


that don't mean anything, at all.

by beretbucky



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rating May Change, Season 3, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, spans from before season three to after season three, they're really sad youve been warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-07-30 23:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20105071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beretbucky/pseuds/beretbucky
Summary: Billy Hargrove really wants to die.Steve Harrington is hellbent on making sure that he doesn't.or; before and after the summer that really did change everything.





	1. spit the blood back, baby.

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from Swear To G-d by Billie Marten

Sometimes it creeps up quietly, a sneaking predator waiting underneath the dinner table. He can barely see it coming - springing on him out of the grass. 

Other days it’s loud, seething, red rage. Maybe it’s unprovoked, or a hesitance that Neil can hear in his voice. But it always ends like this.

_Well_ \- not necessarily. This time might be worse.

The bruises on his torso, just below where his rib cage sits, have turned an ugly purple. Nothing's broken, thank _ God_, but it hurts like a motherfucker nonetheless. 

Billy sits in the shower, body so overwhelmed with suffocating exhaustion that it hurts to stand and feel the hot water spray. He has to be cautious in the way he moves - small motions prove to be enough to light up his torso with agony. 

Christ. He could do with a cigarette right now. Sitting outside somewhere, probably on the hood of his Camaro. Instead he’s plastered up against the cool tiled wall, waiting for his breathing to even out. The way his lungs inhale and exhale feels clumsy but he can’t seem to stop way his heart hammers. It’s unfair; that’s what it is. How even after all this time his own body betrays him - years of trying to be numb, remain unaffected, its never made a difference. Neil’s right, you know. Billy Hargrove is a fucking pussy. 

Eventually he pulls himself up, throws a towel around himself and decides to get his shit together. Hair clings to his face, fair coloured curls plastered to the skin. Tonight his face remains untouched. Neil is a real asshole, no questioning that, but he's not _dumb_. A clean face means less judgemental looks coming his way, and less chance of suspicion. The tenderness of his ribs ripples through the rest of his body, though. He wonders if it’s worse sneaking out or spending the night holed up in his bedroom. 

No progress is made in deciding - his own face staring back in the mirror, bitterness filling his mouth. A sizzling electricity that invades every cell accompanies it like an off key harmony. The bathroom is still hazy with steam, just clear enough to keep eye contact with his reflection. One hand sits on the cool countertop while the other pushes down on his torso. He hisses; doesn’t let himself wince. 

Susan shuffles around downstairs. He can hear her muffled murmuring, words landing soft against Neil’s voice. It’s hard _not_ to hear; even against the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Billy holds his hands against his face and pulls slightly at the skin. The yellow hued light makes him look sickly. By the time he’s redressed, hair towel-dried and skin red raw from the hot water, he’s made his mind up.

——

At this time of night Hawkins has that special type of small-town emptiness. The roads are quiet, the houses pull their blinds shut and turn the lights out.

It’s nothing like California. 

The Camaro's running, radio echoing from the car and into the edge of the forest. He inhales slow and deep, clinging onto the sweet nicotine like a lifebuoy. It’s fairly cool for spring and the night air invades his lungs whenever he takes a drag. It would be easy, here. No one around; no one to see his car spin out of control. He considers the phantom feeling of glass shattering, almost a yearning for a violent collision. Car wrapped around a tree, head injured bad enough that there’d be no way to come back from it. 

What a _tragedy_. Neil would engrave his cold stone grave with one simple inscription, a cursive scrawl of _ ‘fuck-up’ _ to forever remember him by. Billy knows it's sick that the idea makes him smirk more than a little. '_Respect and responsibility_’ would be second choice.

Instead of running himself off a cliff, or something, Billy sits still on the hood of his car and smokes. He likes the way he can see the grey smoke rising and falling in the air, the simple rhythm alongside the radio’s hum enough to keep him off the edge. If he was feeling in a better mood, his fingers would tap against the cool metal hood, feeling the melody right in his core. Tonight isn’t on of those nights, just sitting motionless and gazing into the forest. 

There’s still a stirring on the inside of his body. Like a gas fire, hot and blue as it flickers. His fingers twitch ever slightly and the burn of his throat and eyes sears with heat. ‘’Fuck.’’ the word sounds hoarse on his lips. Billy Hargrove does not cry - not ever, even when he pushes the end of his cigarette into his skin just to _ feel _ that burning spark. So rather than bathing in that burning feeling and following it through, he slams his hand down onto the hood. Tension explodes in his palm. It’s late, and Neil will begin to wonder if he’s still in his room soon, so Billy pulls himself back into the driver seat and starts the car. The engine hums in the emptiness of the night.

The climb to his bedroom window - admittedly a stupid fucking way to sneak in, but the least likeliest to be found - is quick this time. He strips down as soon as he slides through the open window. The last thing he feels before sleep overcomes him is the insistent push of his own hand against the black and purple mottling of his torso. 

——

Saturday mornings provide an excuse to curl up into the bed sheets a little longer. Sometimes Billy feels like there’s an oil spill in his body, some kind of emotional leakage which makes him go all soft. This, is mostly shoved down into the corners of his mind, but there are days where he _ bathes _ in it. It’s the same reason he pushes for more pain, presses down a little too hard on his bruises - he deserves it. At the end of the day, Billy knows what piece of shit he is. 

But Max will bring her wrath upon his door soon, blowing out this candle of self-hatred, and ask to be taken down to the arcade. He will agree, of course, and will add in just a little annoyance to really sell it. 

“Billy!’’ 

Right on cue.

He pulls at his own hair. The sheets wrap around his legs as he drags himself from bed. It’s way too fucking early. 

“What?’’ he yells back.

Max opens the door slowly. Billy pushes it the rest of the way open, and gives her a glare. _ “What?_,’’ he repeats.

“Can you drop me off early today?’’

His breath comes out as a puff of air. “Yeah, I guess. Why?’’ 

Her face goes briefly expressionless. She’s about to tell him a lie, for sure. Billy feels pity for her, hopes Neil never decides to really pick on her cause she’ll struggle to hide anything. “Mike has to be home early for... uh, dinner,’’

“Dinner?’’

“Yeah. With his family, _ duh_,’’ as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Her eyebrow raises.

“Alright.’’ 

She widens her eyes - she barely avoids rolling them, but Billy gets her point anyway. 

“Eleven. Don’t forget - please,’’ the last word comes out smaller than the rest. 

‘’Yeah, yeah.’’ he can taste agitation on his tongue, so he pulls the door shut before she can say anymore. 

He’s gotta get dressed early and everything now, and it’s a goddamn pain in the ass. _Shit_ \- he hasn’t even thought about his ribs since last night, ugly as sin across his torso. The bruising has for sure gotten worse now. Tonight calls for beer then, from the place near the edge of town that looks the other way if you pay them a little too much. Honest to God, being sober is way too overrated anyway and Billy would prefer the numbing salve of a drink in the cool evening air. 

——

By some miracle, Max gets there on time. She pours her heart out to Neil, saying just how she’ll be home early for dinner to make up for missing early Saturday _‘family_ _time’_. Family time in the Hargrove household is frankly the most bullshit idea Billy’s ever heard, and he sits next to _Tommy_ in class - that guy’s full of bullshit. But Neil predictably falls for it, patting her on the shoulder and requesting she be home by 5. Billy wears his best expressionless face on the way out.

The Camaro feels like a second skin. He turns up the radio volume and doesn't look at Max once, washing out the gentle tap of her fingers in time with the song. It's some poppy song, nothing Billy would usually listen to, but Max got all excited when it came on. Not that she _said_ anything, but the bop of her head kinda gave it away. Maybe he's just feeling particularly nice today. 

The Arcade isn’t especially busy for a Saturday. In his peripheral vision Billy can see the way Max perks up when the car pulls in, eyes scanning for her gaggle of kids. It forces a twist in the pit of his stomach. 

A subdue smile positions itself on Max’s face. She stays perfectly still.

“What?’’ he grunts. 

There’s a pause, long enough to make his skin crawl but not quite to get him riled up just yet. ‘'_Max_.’’ 

She breathes in. “...would you pick me up a little later today?’’

As quick as the words are processed, Billy turns to her, grabbing her before she can move from the passenger seat. “You _ looking _ to get in trouble, kid?’’

She huffs. “No - it’s just,’’ she takes another drawn out breath. “Everyone else is hanging back a bit later today and…’’ her voice quietens as she trails off.

“No.’’ 

_ “Billy_,’’ 

“You _told_ Neil you would be home. Do _not_ break that promise.’’

Max’s eyes roll. “Just say there was an accident on the road or something. Please.’’ for someone who’s almost pleading, she keeps her voice stern. 

“I’ll be waiting here at four thirty.’’ he pulls his hand from her shoulder. They exchange glares, but Max eventually shakes her head in annoyance and opens the car door. 

As soon as she’s gone, he lights a cigarette and turns up the radio volume. 

Of course, just cause he’ll be _ waiting _ doesn’t mean she’ll be there. 

——

There is a pile of paper on the bedroom floor. Billy thinks anyone would laugh if they saw this; _the _Hargrove nose deep in a book. They’re reading Pride and Prejudice in class, and even though he wouldn’t say he enjoys it, it’s enough of a distraction to keep him from clawing as his skin. Or picking a fight.

Neil is out, doing God-knows-what with Susan. But Billy is angry, always fucking angry, and today’s no different. He’s already tried listening to music, opening up the window and lighting a cigarette for the hell of it, but nothing’s soothing that heady feeling. It’s like, almost being stir-crazy. An animal that’s been locked up in its cage for too long. 

The bedroom is quiet, and even though it’s sunny out there’s still a breeze throughout Hawkins so the window stays open. He’s got nothing better to do in this shithole, so why not do his English classwork? Maths, on the other hand, is shit, and Billy has no intention to do anything but shred his assigned work to pieces.

Books hold good memories somewhere deep in his soul. Long days that turned into evenings spent curled up into his mother’s lap, her voice narrating a story. No lullaby could ever put Billy to sleep, but a good book could.

And _ maybe _ that was the same now. When this type of agitation arrives, nothing can put him to rest quite like a book. This copy of Pride and Prejudice is worn, pages yellow and curling at the edges in some places. He’d picked it up from a second-hand store close to Hawkins. Billy admittedly likes its age, the idea that someone before him had worn the pages down from reading it - not that it mattered. 

He takes a deep breath and gets back to work. 

By the time 4 o’clock rolls around, Billy’s ahead of his work. He rubs at his eyes, dragging his fingers down his face and groaning. Somewhere during his work the pressure in his head must have amounted to a headache, the brief sensation of searing heat at his temple. Probably the result of his recent lack of sleep and complete inattention to drinking water_. _He's _starving_, too. 

It’s not worth hanging around in his bedroom any longer, so Billy pulls himself into the Camaro and drives to the arcade.

Max is out the front, with a soda in hand. Billy didn’t give her any money, so he guesses one of her weirdo friends paid for it. The kids huddle together in a group. It’s no wonder they're always getting picked on, running around so obnoxiously like that. She has a smile on her face, standing next to that Sinclair kid and Jonathan Byers’ younger brother.

Christ, that Sinclair kid is trouble. He isn’t a _bad_ kid or anything, not that Billy would know or care, but Neil is a real piece of shit. He knows the type of attitude he has towards _friends_, especially when they're like Sinclair. 

Back in California, before everything went down, Billy hung out with guy in his class called David. They were friends, _ good _ friends, not like any of the other dickheads he knew. He wore the ugliest reading glasses, poor guy, but could charm girls so quickly it gave Billy whiplash. They spent afternoons talking shit about some of the guys, laughing over a beer he had taken from his dad. 

It had been a while since Billy had laughed like that. But of fucking course Neil intervened. He just didn't _like_ him, or some bullshit. And after a particularly bad fight with Neil, Billy just gave in. Learnt with the hard thump of a blow landing against his cheekbone that it didn’t matter what he thought, or how stubborn he was or how much he enjoyed spending time with that kid. 

He turns the radio volume up. The lighter in his hand flickers, lights on the third try. 

Truthfully, as much as he really does treat Max badly, he doesn’t want to see her hurt. Family’s family, even if it’s not blood related. The idea that Neil could one day change his mind about Max’s stubborn nature sickens him. Billy deserves what he gets, but Max? She’s all good intentions wrapped up in red hair and an eternally pissed-off face.

She eventually notices his car, pulled into a second row parking spot. They exchange a quick glance. Billy can tell she’s worried he’ll get angry with her, plastering a half-smile on her face. He doesn’t mind, continuing to sit and smoke.

In all honesty, it’s kind of a nice afternoon in Hawkins. He doesn’t mind sitting in the warm sun for a while, letting it bathe other him through the Camaro’s windows. Then, Steve fucking Harrington shows up. 

There’s this scowl on his face, rolling his eyes as one of the kids clambers at him for a soda. Four plastic cups, straws poked in the middle, miraculously balance in his arms.

Billy can’t believe his eyes, really. King Steve, returning again to the rightful throne of - _ babysitter_. 

The humour of it all wears off pretty quickly though, considering that last time Billy saw him he beat his face to a _fucking_ _pulp_. He sighs, leaning his head back into the driver's seat and exhaling cigarette smoke. At least Steve hasn’t noticed his presence. 'Cause Steve Harrington is dangerous. Billy’s always had a soft spot for playing with fire. It’s the same reason he speaks back to Neil when he knows he shouldn’t, tests the limits. And Harrington is the _definition_ of fire, so bright and tempting, takes the bait so easily. But he’s still Harrington_, _who understandably hates Billy’s guts and went out with prissy Wheeler. 

It’s way past five now, but Max appears to be making some kind of effort to leave. She pats Byers on the shoulder, smile on her face, and throws the now empty cup into the trash. Her face suggests she must have noticed Billy poking his head out of the window, and gives him a subtle nod. He nods back at her, beginning to grow impatient and slightly worried. She must understand, because she rolls her eyes and turns to Sinclair.

They say their goodbyes, exchanging smiles and pulling each other in for a hug. Max walks alway and heads over to Billy.

“Took your time.”

She smiles. It’s a shy look on her, but he knows she’s grateful.

“Yeah, yeah,”

The drive home is quiet, but not filled with the usual poison that silence between them holds. Just a tired layer of peace. Max looks out her window and stares at the evening sunset. 

The lights are on in the living room when they pull up. The Camaro stops, and Billy can feel his breathing begin to quicken. He hates the way his body anticipates it, as if it’s so expected or dare say _deserved_ that he can feel the hits before they even come. The feeling gets squashed down, swapped for carefully reconsidering whether letting Max have her fun was really worth it. But her smile, the hand on Sinclair’s shoulder - Billy had that shit torn away from him once, and he doesn’t want that for her too.

She says a quiet thanks and opens the passenger side door. The wall to the front door is purposefully slow, like there’s a thrum of electricity that hangs on both of their shoulders. Billy knows Neil’s definitely pissed the moment he opens the door. 

He greets Billy with a scowl on his face. There’s alcohol on his breath, bottles of beer cluttered on the kitchen table. A hockey game plays from the television. The metallic sound of cutlery clashing together rings from the kitchen - Susan must be doing the dishes.

“What do we _ always _ have to talk about, Billy?”

“One of Max’s friends got left behind. Wouldn’t leave until her Dad came to pick her up.” He pauses, giving Neil a smile he hopes might work. “You know how it is. She’s a good kid.”

Neil steps closer, forcing them to make eye contact. “That doesn’t answer my question, does it now?”

Billy’s really considering bashing his own fucking head into the wall right now. 

Instead, he murmurs, “No sir.”

Anger spreads across his face. “What was that?”

_ “No sir.”_

“That’s your sister, Billy. It’s your job to bring her home at the right time. Your _ responsibility_,” he reverberates the word by slamming him against the wall. 

“She -“ he can barely utter more than a syllable before Neil swings at him. 

There’s no crack, but the sting hits right away.

‘’Please,’’ he begs. Fuck, when Neil’s this blind with rage there’s not much to do; no breathing room. There’s times where it’s a game of tug and war, and Billy bites back like a dog with a bone. Not now, though. His chest wheezes with the effort of sustaining breath, lungs rattling deep within his chest, his drumming heart shaking with the exertion. 

Another kick. It rebounds against the four walls of his bedroom, and Billy honest to God wonders if this is _ it_. The devil’s coming for his forsaken soul, he thinks, with all the satisfaction of a man who’s been praying for death far too long. 

He wheezes again. The hit to his gut wasn’t strong enough to really make a dent, but enough to feel it. 

“Do you understand, Billy?”

He chokes on his words, brow furrowing with exertion.

“Do you _ understand_, Billy?” Neil repeats, yelling louder this time.

“Yes,” he coughs.

Neil gives a half-hearted kick. “I hope so, son.'' he shakes his head in disapproval and leaves the house, taking the time to slam the front door on the way out. 

Billy tries to take a deep breath in, but it hurts. The sob that comes from his body is quiet enough that Max won’t be able to hear it in her bedroom. He stays slouched against the wall for a little while, waiting for the adrenaline to go down and stop making the room spin.

There’ll be a really pretty shiner on his face now. Maybe Billy will say he ran into a pole or some shit. It’s a terrible excuse, he thinks, but it’s kind of amusing to just throw excuses at people with no further explanation. 

Thank _God_ Billy got a stash of weed from Tommy the other day. Sure, it was supposed to be for their Sunday afternoon ‘_gathering_’, but Tommy didn’t need to know he’d broken into it.

Susan peeks out of the kitchen like a scared animal. She doesn’t say a single word.

——

He takes his car out to the junkyard. It’s light enough that the sky is a violet colour, stars only just beginning to show themselves. There’s enough beer for the night in his backseat, bought from the dodgy place just at the edge of town that will turn a blind eye if the price is right. 

After a moment of sitting on the hood, something gives in his body. A string pulled too taut, maybe, stretched out so far it has finally snapped. Tears roll from his eyes. Ugly, _ ugly_, crying overtakes; Billy is all swollen eyes, choked sobs and sniffing. He tries his best to stop it or at least stave off the wet hitches in his breath, but it proves to be overwhelmingly hopeless. Fingernails dig into the flesh of his palm, fists clenching with a constant harsh rhythm. 

He takes a swig from the beer bottle. It doesn’t help, still feels like the frustration will explode out of his body and leave him as meaty chunks on the ground. His breath shakes.

In a moment of particularly stupid decision making, Billy smashes the bottle against the metal of the hood.

“Fuck!” 

Blood drips from the cuts in his palms, staining his jeans. They’re one of his nice pairs, too, only one small tear at the knee. 

Out of instinct he rubs at his nose, spreading the blood on his face too. Jesus Christ, he thinks, how many kinds of fucked up must he look right now? 

Pain stings at his head, which makes him even more frustrated. This feeling is shockingly familiar, greeting him like a warm friend. 

The blindingly bright headlights which pull up behind the parked Camaro are not at all_ familiar._


	2. fallin' again, i need a pick-me-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy realises he might not be so alone.
> 
> It's weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from The Beach by The Neighbourhood
> 
> [it's a damn good song y'all]

Hawkins is a sleepy place. Ask anyone; they’ll politely inform you that most are sleeping soundly by ten p.m. There's a curfew in place for the kids, and no one loiters around underneath the streetlights. It’s nothing like what California was, everything alive and buzzing at all times of the night, where you could find someone to hang out with late anywhere. A thick layer of impenetrable darkness inches into Hawkins at about nine, too, leaving any unlit corners eerily empty and dark. Which is exactly why seeing another person pull into the junkyard is even weirder.

The junkyard is dark and cold, especially with the unforgiving metal scraps strewn around. It's not warm or welcoming in any way, and not the type of spot people come to hang out. Not once has Billy’s seen anyone else here, and he's been here many a night for a quiet cool-down spot after the type of encounters with Neil that get him running especially hot. Each time it's been Billy and a joint in the cool night air. Not a single other soul. 

Apparently, his streak is being broken tonight. 

The engine rumbles as the car comes to a stop. Billy stays statue-still as the headlights flicker and turn off. The first feeling that races through him is the persistent sensation of panic, the inevitability that he could be about to land himself in _big _ trouble. Christ, he’s not trespassing, is he? What if it’s Neil, coming to find him - this time even more pissed off?

His heart jumps as the door slams closed. “No fucking way,’’ 

It’s not hard to recognise who it is, voice loud against the quiet Hawkins evening. “Harrington?’’ he says, trying to hide the shakiness so apparent in his words.

“What are _ you _ doing out here?’’

Billy rolls his eyes. ‘“I could ask you the same question.’’

Steve leans himself back against the Camaro. He motions towards the smashed beer bottle. “What happened here?’’

He _really _ does try not to sigh. It comes out nonetheless, a long belly-deep exhale. “Long story.’’

Steve with his perfect, annoying as all fuck hair, nods. “You, uh… good?’’

He’s most likely noticed the blotchy redness around his eyes and nose. There are still tear stains on his cheeks, eyes glazed over and puffy. It’s not exactly hard to see. Billy is downright a pussy, just like Neil says, but that doesn’t mean other people need to know.

“I’m fine. _Fuck_ _off_,’’ he snaps. 

“Shit, man. It’s fine if you aren’t,’’

It's not though, and Billy knows that, ingrained so deep into his head that he doesn't even question if he's right. Steve’s keeps nervously tapping his fingers against the hood and trying to make eye contact. “I mean - if you wanna talk about it -“

“I _ don’t _.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows and nods, body language clearly awkward. “_Who would have thought, huh_.” 

Billy glances up at him again, eyes narrowing in. “What?” 

“Who would have thought _ you _have _emotions_,”

And now Billy’s more fucking pissed of than earlier, angry at the world for never giving him a break and even angrier at Steve for invading the one space he can just _be. _

“Jesus Christ!” he yells. “Didn’t you ever learn you to just shut the fuck up?”

Harrington pulls back slightly. He makes some sort of hissing noise, face wincing in a resemblance of pain. “You _sure_ you don’t need a hospital or something?”

He shakes his head, scowling. “I’m fine.” 

A hand comes to his shoulder, tense and lacking any warmth. Harrington keeps shuffling awkwardly beside him and Billy has the feeling the hand on his shoulder might be more for Steve's comfort than his.

“Tit for tat?” he says.

“_What_?”

“I’ve got one secret of yours, now. Does that mean I’ve got to give you one too?”

Billy thinks the poor guy must have sustained some permanent damage from their fight - hell, he almost pities him. “What secret was that again?”

“You know, that you have emotions and all. Like a _ normal _ person,”

It’s so _stupid _but it's probably better than sitting in the dark alone and drinking beer, so he plays along. “Fine, pretty boy. What’s your secret?”

Steve breathes real deep for a moment. “I can't sleep,”

He scoffs. “_ That’s _ it?”

“No, it’s - I have these nightmares, real bad. And I’m such a pussy about it that I’m _ scared _ to fall asleep,” 

Billy looks at him, too close; he has to pull himself back before the anger creeping under his skin takes a turn for the worse. Fuck Harrington and his pretty face. Steve looks at him with no hint of humour though, frowning with his brows drawn tight. The uneasy silence that permeates the air stretches out, and he focuses his eyes towards the ground in an effort to avoid Billy's gaze. 

Tears still sting at Billy's eyes and it’s truthfully embarrassing, so he's thankful for the second to try and gain composure. He feels raw and vulnerable, an exposed nerve. It settles weirdly in his stomach, like every part of his body knows how strange this is. It wasn’t that long ago that Billy picked up a plate and smashed it against his face. Now, Harrington glares at him, grabbing a bottle from his car real quick and setting it against the hood. He purses his lips at the way Billy glares. 

‘’What’s that?’’

‘’Water. No disinfectant in the car, so. Gimme your hand,’’ 

Billy doesn’t move - stays still as a statue, waiting for Steve to fucking… _ deck _ him or something. Knowing that even though the two of them reallydon’t get along, but Steve still wants to help him? It doesn’t make sense in his head. It's like this cognitive dissonance, like it should be impossible, so he just furrows his eyebrows and stares. 

‘’I’m cleaning where you cut yourself,’’ Steve draws his words out, real slow, like Billy’s having a hard time understanding.

‘’I know, Harrington. I'm not fucking dumb, just- _Why_?’’

He sighs dramatically. ‘’Cause I’m not a total piece of shit, Hargrove,’’ and proceeds to grab Billy’s hand anyway. ‘’It’s not much, but it’ll have to do,’’

The water pools around his bloody hands. There’s not much there, but it still stings. ‘’No glass in there. It’s fine,’’ he grunts. 

‘’Still don’t wanna risk it,’’ 

Instead of saying something, Billy just nods. Steve still picks up the agitation in festering underneath the surface. “You want another drink? You can smash it somewhere else this time,” 

He quietly thinks _fuck_ _it_ and shrugs. ‘’Sure,’’

Steve manages to fit his arm into the open car window and pulls out a beer. He cracks it open in one easy motion. Billy swears to himself that he’s not _eyeing_ Harrington’s arms. 'Cause the thing is, even though he’s a stuck up, rich boy type, Steve Harrington isn’t bad looking. But Billy knows trouble when he sees it, and that pretty face underneath the starlight raises all his red flags. 

Just so happens that red is his favourite colour.

So when Steve passes the beer along, pushing it into Billy’s outstretched hand, he may leave his grasp there just a _little_ longer than necessary. He breaks the silence. “You joining me?”

“What, in breaking shit?”

“Yeah,” flashes his smile, and says, “Why not, right?”

Steve shrugs. He pulls another bottle from the backseat. “Gotta drink it first, though. Otherwise it’s a waste.” 

It kinda feels like the world’s gone quiet, or tilted off-axis a little bit. Because Steve leans his body against the Camaro, sliding down until he’s sitting on the hard earth, and it’s closer than the two have ever been before. He looks at Billy - like he’s something _ worth _ looking at, and takes a sip from his beer bottle. It’s cheap stuff, nothing like Steve would be used to, but he doesn’t say anything. Just sits there in the silence. 

At some point he must finish drinking, judging by the way he slams the glass bottle onto the ground with a sense of finality. He turns to Billy, gives him this _look_, then throws the glass right at one of the car wrecks near them. It shatters, jagged pieces falling onto the ground. The slivers of glass are small; the impact enough to split them so finely that some look more like dust.

Steve takes a breath. Moves his head towards Billy, as if daring him to make the next move. And Billy’s never been one to back down from a challenge, so he launches his bottle into the same wreck, watches the way it explodes. It’s _good_, satisfying in a way that beating the daylights out of someone isn’t. He wonders how much of that comes down to the company he’s with. Billy tries to squash _that_ thought as quickly as it comes.

When it reaches three o’clock, almost at the very tip of dawn, Steve climbs back in his car. The drive home feels empty without another person.

——

The week carries on normally. Neither runs into each other again, and Billy feels like that’s a blessing.

He doesn’t need to address the weight off his chest after their conversation together. Doesn’t want to think about how much more he wishes he could say, too, or how he wishes he was different so that Steve would _smile_ when he spoke to him. 

None of that is important. He doesn’t leave his room on Sunday, opens the window up and smokes while listening to Metallica on his mother’s record player. The sound carries throughout the small confines of the bedroom, picking up on the gentle breeze. He feels hazy, riding on a soft and sweet high from Tommy’s weed. Neil doesn’t enter his room once, either, and Billy counts that as a blessing too. When Monday arrives, it brings bitterness to his stomach, hard to swallow anxiety that makes his breath shake. He sleeps in, not more than ten minutes, but Max opens his door anyway. She’s especially pissed off for a Monday morning. 

He rushes to the car, grabbing a piece of toast on the way out. Max likes to get to school before everyone else floods the place, even if Hawkins Middle School isn’t especially _ busy. _ That doesn’t stop her from wanting to beat the crowds. She’s quiet during the drive there, even when Billy tries to prompt her into talking by teasing her about how _tall_ she's getting. She isn't really - Billy just has no idea how you're supposed to talk to kids. He's trying his best. 

The beginnings of summer hang heavy in the air. Everyone’s feeling it, the niggling feeling of waiting for school to finally be _ over as _ the last couple of weeks stretch out for what feels like forever. Billy’s done his best to be _ good_, stay out of trouble and look all _ studious _ so he can get the fuck out of here as quick as possible. Get accepted into a college - back home in Cali, preferably - work a summer job, make enough to leave. It could work out with just a little luck on his side. 

He’s wearing his favourite pair of jeans today, not for any particular reason. Billy just likes the way they make him feel a little less like an asshole, knees without rips or anything. More _put_ _together_. 

The whole day passes in a blur. Not a single thing out of the ordinary, another mark on the calendar. He hates the easy ebb and flow of Hawkins, how unremarkable everyday seems. Most of all he hates the way Harrington ignores him all day. They both refuse to make contact with each other - barely more than a glance passed between one another. He wonders if it’s _ purposeful; _ if Harrington’s got something similar to Billy’s venom under his skin, that makes him hate how vulnerable he was that night. 

Even if it sucks how boring it all is - he stays under the radar. Lets himself reflect on Steve, but not in a _weird _way or anything, and doesn’t speak back to Neil. When Neil tells him to be nicer to Susan, he just says ‘’Yes, sir,’’ and smiles at her over dinner. 

But the lead-up to summer is crawling so slowly that it leaves Billy restless, the type of boredom that makes him frustrated. He’s always had a soft spot for taking a bit more _ give _ whenever he gets a little, too. He hangs back with Tommy and Carol in the parking lot for a little too long, smoking cheap cigarettes. It’s still light out, but the sun’s low enough to glimpse through the trees on the horizon. Even if Tommy and Carol are shit company and can’t keep their hands off each other -- they’re like that sometimes, and other times can’t stand each other - Billy frankly doesn’t care. He barely talks to them, brushing Tommy’s stupid comments off and keeping in his own head. 

There’s a lot on his mind. A lot of planning to do. 

Because Billy knows he’s a big-time fuck-up, but that doesn’t mean that’s what he wants for himself. Here, in Hawkins, it’s a good idea. The big, asshole tough guy act works for him here, keeps people away, makes him feel less afraid. But if there’s even the possibility he could just get out of here, and be less of a shithead? Yeah - he’d like that. So Billy’s planning, sitting on the hood of his Camaro while Tommy rambles on about his English Lit class today. It completely slips his mind that it’s probably pick up time now.

Eventually, Tommy pipes up and says, ‘’Hey, didn’t you have somewhere to be, man?’’

Billy’s pretty sure it’s the first time he’s ever been _useful._

He’s so fucked, he already knows it. Max will be pissed, but Neil will be even more pissed. The calm before the storm? That shit’s over now. He speeds to the middle school, which is _not_ a great thing to do. He’s never cared much for safe driving, anyway.

Max is standing there, almost fuming. It’s not like she’s completely alone, but the other kids there are lingering, avoiding going home and talking amongst each other. She storms to the car and slams the passenger door closed when she gets in. Billy kinda feels bad. Not just because of the consequences he _ knows _ he’s gonna face, but because he is genuinely shitty. He would have been pissed if he was left there, alone and impatient, so he can imagine that she will be too. “Shit, Max, I completely forgot,” 

She doesn’t look at him. “Whatever.’’

They don’t get home that late, but late enough for Neil to know that Billy didn’t pick her up on time. He feels his pulse pick up as Max opens the door.

“Billy!” 

Neil’s visibly furious. 

“Tell me why your sister is home late?”

“My fault,” he says. Adds “Sir.” and hopes Neil doesn’t notice the pause. 

“And why is that?”

Shit, he hasn’t even thought of an excuse. “Forgot.” 

Neil shakes his head and looks at him like he’s the most disgusting thing on this Earth. 

“Tell me, Billy, how exactly did you _ forget _ to pick up your _ sister_?”

And Billy must be feeling particularly self-sabotaging, bubbles of hate starting to brim over in his chest, because he sneers at him. “She’s _not_ _my_ _sister_. And I had other things to do, Dad.”

That’s what earns him the first fist thrown, angled right at the cartilage of his nose. It burns, eyes watering with the impact from the crash. Neil strikes again, and Billy’s got his eyes closed but he doesn’t need to see anything with the way he goes down, falling to the hardwood floor of the living room. His ears are ringing, throat burning, a sob torn from his mouth. He _has_ to pull himself together, though, so he pushes his torso off the ground and looks straight up at Neil. 

‘’When will you learn?!’’ he yells, so hot with anger that it radiates from his skin. Billy feels him pull away and take a deep breath, exhale heavy in the dead silent house.

Susan’s on her night shift tonight. He can’t see Max. That’s probably for the best. He hopes she’s in her bedroom, talking on her walkie-talkie and far too distracted to be listening in. 

Neil eyes him over. ‘’You’re going to learn from this time, Billy. Since you’ve proved you can’t be trusted to show a bit of responsibility for your sister, I think we’re going to have to tighten the rules around here. Do you understand?’’ 

The hits to his head have blurred the room a little bit, softened his vision at the corners. It’s like there are cotton balls in his mouth, stopping him from opening up and getting the words out.

He raises his voice, even louder. ‘’Do you _ understand _?’’

‘’Yes,’’ he groans. 

It’s probably a lie - like everything seems to be, but it appeases Neil’s anger. Holds back the oncoming storm for just a little longer.

His eyes still water with the force of it all, tears welling in the very corners. They don’t drip, don’t make it to his cheeks, just burn into his eyes with the heat. There’s blood dribbling from his nose, warm and wet upon the skin. Neil stares at his face with utter contempt, the type of look that makes him feel _ worthlessness _ in his very core. He leaves the house and slams the door on his way out. Even Neil is smart enough to know that it’s a bad idea to stick around; to see what he’s done. 

Billy has to take a moment to sit propped up against the wall. That live-wire adrenaline rush has to subside before he can get up again, otherwise, he’ll go looking for even more trouble. One hit makes him want more. The shifting of his body against the hardwood floors echoes against the searing pain in his head. The ground is cool, but unforgiving in its tough, uncomfortable form. The house radiates with emptiness, a cool-mist settling over after Neil’s violent storm, eerie silence washing over it like the last droplets of rain. 

Max doesn’t leave her room, stays quietly hidden away upstairs. So Billy takes the opportunity to leave. She's still home, but Susan will be off work soon and she can take care of herself for an hour or so. She’s not _ that _ stupid. 

There’s a headiness in the crisp outdoor air, electricity crackling. It feels alive, a cool relief in his air-stricken lungs from the stale suffocation of the Hargrove house. It’ll probably storm, tonight, and Billy can’t help but appreciate the irony in that. He feels like he’s pent up and full of grey clouds, too.

There’s a little bit of cash in his wallet, leftover from the fix-up work he did for one of the neighbours. It’s enough for gas and cheap alcohol. If he drives a little out of town they won’t recognise him - and he probably looks old enough not to card, especially with the bruises starting to show against his face. 

Afterwards, stocked up with shitty beer and a pack of cigarettes, he heads to the junkyard. 

It’s blissfully quiet. Grey clouds are rolling off in the distance, making their way to Hawkins. He watches the skyline, sprinklings of stars already beginning to show up. It’s painfully familiar. 

In California, his mom _loved _ the stars. She was never a sciencey type, more some type of hippie flower child, but astronomy captured her attention like nothing else. She’d tell him of nights spent at the beach, waiting for meteor showers and feeling invigorated at the sight of the wide-open sky. 

Sometimes, before she left - when things were getting _worse_ \- she would sneak out of his room once she finally thought Billy was asleep, and stand on the veranda attached to the house, watching the stars. 

He kind of gets that, now. 

The hood of the Camaro always serves as the perfect spot, better than sitting _ inside _ the car and feeling the glass’ presence. Nothing is blocking him from the blinking lights of the sky, and it’s freeing, in a way. And everything _hurts_, so Billy’s willing to take whatever relief he can get. The radio hasn’t even been turned on yet, but there’s already a dent in the beer. He gulps at it like a dying man, like he’s been dehydrated for months now. The liquid cools his adrenaline hot insides. There’s only a few minutes of silence before he hears a car pulling into the junkyard. 

“Holy shit, man!”

He turns. The sudden movement ripples pain through his body. 

Steve looks _ bad _ \- even though it’s dark, it’s not hard to see the dark circles under his eyes, skin paler and washed with the look of someone who hasn’t slept in _ days_. There’s a notably defensive look on his face, body pulled tight into itself at the surprise of seeing someone unexpected. 

“Just me,” Billy says - lets the corners of his lips rise a little. “What? Gonna cream your pants, Harrington?”

The words are a little slurred, bumping together and graceless. He doesn’t soften them - lets cruelty tar his voice and glares at Steve. 

In all honesty, he’s a little pissed off that Steve is back here again. The last thing he wants is pity, so heavy with artificial kindness that it sinks to the bottom of his stomach. He’d rather _ die_, jump into the quarry and crash into the water so hard that they’d tell Neil and Susan _ there was no chance he could make it. _ He wants to pull his hair, bang his head against the window -

“Jesus Christ. You need some ice for that?” Steve walks closer. 

“No, ‘m fine,” he grumbles. 

He exhales, loud and deep. ‘’Sorry, man. I didn’t think you’d be out here,’’

Billy nods real slow, holding back his temper. “Whatever,”

“I brought alcohol,” he says it like it’s almost a question - hesitant and unsure of the expression on Billy’s face.

“Gonna let me have some?”

“Seems like you’ve already had enough,”

He rolls his eyes. 

“Not _ that _ mean, are you?”

Steve smiles a little, face hard to see in the low light. “Nah,” he keeps his voice quiet and sits next to Billy’s spot on the ground, leaning back against the hood of the Camaro. 

He must see the way his body folds in a little, a kind of flinch because Steve shuffles away. “You sure you’re good?” he questions. There’s no bitterness to it, no _ pity _ either - just a simply worded question. 

Silence hangs heavy between them. Billy’s fingers itch a little to reach out a feel something real, warm - something that won’t bite back, but he’s not that stupid. He huffs. ‘’I’m still here, right? Can’t be that fuckin’ bad, Jesus,’’

There’s a shake still running through his body, small tremors trying to shake off the last of the adrenaline, remnants of fear still coursing through his veins. Steve ignores them, opening the glass bottle he’s been nestling beside his leg. There’s a satisfying crack as the cap gives way. It’s some kind of fancy shit, knowing Harrington, but Billy’s head thrums too much to even read the label. Steve hisses after taking the first sip, so, it must be _ something _. A part of him fears that neither of them will say anything more, and it'll go back to painful silence, but Steve speaks up. 

‘’Have you always been like this?’’

Billy scoffs. ‘’Like _ what_?’’

‘’Y’know. All tough and -’’ he pauses. His face looks particularly sour. ‘’Angry, I guess. Don’t get offended, or anything, but you know you’re totally an asshole, right?’’

‘’Shit, man, since when?’’ 

‘’Hey!’’ Steve groans, pushes his shoulder a little into Billy’s personal space. Not enough for them to touch, but enough that Billy feels him there. ‘’Don’t be mean,’’

He rolls his eyes and decides to humour him. ‘’No, Harrington, I just, y’ know, woke up one night and decided it was my life’s purpose.’’ 

Steve laughs. Some weird part of Billy notes that he’s never heard him so freely laughing but the alcohol is probably helping too. He keeps drinking, probably _ way _ too much way too fast, but if it gets Steve laughing - who cares? The sound of it fills up the dead night air of Hawkins with warmth, makes Billy feel grounded. 

He forgot what this was like. Being able to speak to someone, _ normally _ . Without having to keep himself so tightly guarded - and the alcohol is _definitely_ helping with that, too, unwinding him carefully like a string pulled stiff. 

‘’Hey,’’ Steve speaks up. ‘’When you first got here, did you hate me?’’

_ Yes. But that wasn’t your fault, _ he thinks. He just says, ‘’Kinda,’’

‘’You wanted Nancy?’’

Shit. He must be drunker than Billy previously thought. At this rate, he’s gonna have to sneak a sip of that too, ‘cause whatever it is, it’s working _ fast _ . Everyone knows about _ King _ Steve and Nancy, how quickly everything changed and then fell apart at once. He’s seen the way people look at Jonathon and Nancy when they’re together - enough to know what people think. 

Billy doesn’t really want to say anything to that; it hits a little close to home, touches right in the place where all his bruises are. Instead of replying, he grabs the glass bottle right from Steve’s grasp and drinks. Eventually, he says, ‘’No.’’

‘’Why don’t you like me, then? And why are you always getting into fights, Hargrove?’’ it sounds like an afterthought. 

Steve doesn’t tense, lets Billy mold his body into the bone edge of his shoulder. Billy is so _ tired_. Sure, the shaking has subsided, but it’s left him physically exhausted, but Harrington is really warm. 

‘’No, no,’’ he mumbles. The words crash together. Steve’s giving him this look like he’s humouring him. ‘’You don’t get it, I’m no good, Steve. ‘S my fault,’’

Steve’s all confused, brows furrowed, eyes looking him up and down. ‘’How’s it your fault? What, you go looking for fights?’’ like it’s easy. His voice is somehow dry, free of the honey-coated pity he expected.

‘’No,’’ he repeats. ‘’We - Max - ‘m bad, Harrington. Fuckin’ beat you up again to prove it,’’

He scoffs. ‘’You’re way too drunk for that,’’

“Too drunk to fuck shit up again, either?” 

“Well.” Steve eyes him over and snatched the bottle back. Billy’s made a dent in it, but there’s enough for Steve to have the last of it.

Jesus, they’re _wasted_. Steve’s gotten drunk surprisingly quick for the man who used to be _keg_ _king_. 

“Probably not. Hey, you weren’t planning on driving back, were you?’’

He chews on his lip. Thinks, fuck it, and tells him the truth, “Yeah, I was just gonna get back on my own. How else, dipshit?” 

Steve groans. “You could, _ like_, die,”

“Yeah? Pretty boy would care if I died, huh?” 

“No,” he grins. “Just don’t wanna waste time being questioned about it.” 

Billy’s reminded by how close they are in proximity - he’s almost draped over Steve’s side, now. There’s no moving him though - not like this.

“You’re joking though, right?” 

He shakes his head, makes a pissed off face. 

“Jesus Christ, Hargrove. You wanna fucking crash?”

And yeah, that’s the thing - he kind of does. If something were to happen by coincidence and completely out of their control? No one would question it. His father wouldn’t spit on his grave for being so much of a pussy that he chose the _ easy way out,_ the kids at school wouldn’t talk about him like they _should have seen it coming_. He would just die, normally. 

No scandal around it. So, yeah, he does. 

“Look, _Harrington,_” he spits. “No one gives a fuck. And I _won't_. ”

“That’s not true, asshole. Look, I know we’re not like, _friends,_ but even I don’t think that’s true,” 

He glares. Steve’s big _Bambi_ eyes stare back at him. 

“Honestly, Harrington, I didn’t come here because I was enjoying life, okay? Maybe I wanna be fuckin’ dead! Whats it your business?”

“Kinda my business ‘cause you’re sitting right next to me!’’

‘’I didn’t _ ask _ you to be here.’’

Steve’s face falls, just a little. Not that Billy notices. 

‘’Jesus. Don’t - don’t think like that.’’

He laughs dryly. _ Don’t think like that _ \- what, as if he can help it?

‘’No, Hargrove, I’m serious. You’re digging your own grave. Why do you think I’m out here?’’

‘’Wasn’t it that you, uh, can’t sleep or something, _princess_? Princess needs his beauty sleep, _doesn’t_ _he_.’’ 

Steve groans. ‘’Can you - _ can you not? _ I thought you were actually trying not to be a complete dickhead, for once,’’

Billy shuts up at that. He’s right. 

‘’Okay - shut up, because basically _ Hargrove_,’’ he pouts. It’s way more endearing than it should be. ‘’Because that’s how I think, like, all the time and it’s fucked up everything.’’

He drinks, leaving a lull in the conversation, and then says - ‘’You know, I wanted to kill myself, which sounds so _ stupid _ and _ dramatic _ now but, like - the only reason I pussied out was because the kids would be confused and blame themselves and -’’

‘’Harrington.’’

He doesn’t stop, mouth blabbering at this point. ‘’And El wouldn’t even understand, and then -’’ he’s panting, breath hot and he’s close enough that Billy can feel it against his skin. Who the _ fuck _ is El?

‘’Harrington. Hey, back to Earth.’’ 

‘’Uh. Shit… I think ‘m drunker than I thought,’’ 

‘’You think?’’ 

Steve nods slowly. 

‘’Fuck, I’m sorry. You don’t… I know. It’s just, I get it, but.’’

‘’Yeah.’’ Billy says, almost whispering. He shifts away from Steve. It’s suffocating, being so close, and he doesn’t need that right now. 

‘’Hey, just - just promise me you won’t do it, okay? Max would be real fucking pissed at you.’’

He chuckles quietly. ‘’You first?’’

He furrows his brows together again, eyes squinting up at Billy. ‘’Me first, what?’’

‘’You gotta promise me, too,’’

Steve leans back. ‘’You’re kidding, right?’’

‘’No way.’’

‘’Well shit,’’ he smiles, and yeah, it’s bittersweet but it’s something. ‘’Deal?’’

Billy nods. ‘’Deal.’’

When Billy goes home that night, he tries not to think how the ache in his chest has stopped hurting so bad. 

——

When nine comes, and the sun comes streaming right through the bedroom window, Billy blanks. Last night knocked him around, left him too tired to even think. 

To be honest, he has no idea how he got home. Everything’s a little blurry, like fogged up glass. He remembers a few choice words, though, and Steve’s breath feeling hot near his face. They weren’t fighting, but Billy supposes that letting his guard down like that kind of has the same effect. There’s this warmth he feels with the shaky memories too - not the kind of drink-fuelled buzz he’s used too, but something different.

Steve was pushy with him about driving home. He started coming off scared and shaky at the end of the night when he said he had to go soon. As if he was worried, genuinely frightened that Billy would try something even after promising that he wouldn’t.

He feels like a kindergartener, _pinky_ _promising_ under the stars. It’s stupid. 

It’s also… sweet. 

People don’t treat Billy like that. It’s weird. 

Static comes from the hallway. The noise makes him wince and shuffle from his bed. He doesn’t open the door, just hovers there and listens. 

‘’Tell him to answer, then!’’ 

Oh, Jesus. 

It’s only _nine_, which means it's _way_ too early, and she’s already awake, shuffling around on a Sunday morning while Neil is most definitely trying to sleep. She’s not making any great attempt to stay quiet, either. 

He pushes the door open enough for her to see him. 

‘’Billy.’’ she scowls. 

The sun must be flowing through from one of the windows downstairs, because he winces when he looks at her, still hungover. 

‘’You need to quiet down.’’

She rolls her eyes and scampers down the hall, back to her bedroom. He hears a muffled, ‘’...j_ust my idiot brother._’’ being spoken into the walkie-talkie. 

He drags his hands down his face and swears under his breath, just for good measure. 

The hangover byproduct of feeling like shit stays with him, but he manages to leave his room and make it to the kitchen in time for Sunday morning pancakes. Susan’s pancakes aren’t even good, but Neil is so determined to instil a family routine that he’d tear Billy to pieces if he missed them. Neil’s particularly sleep-addled this morning so he just stares absentmindedly at last night’s work, painted in hues of yellow and grey across Billy’s face, rather than pointedly telling him off. 

Max cradles her arms around her knees. She _ always _ sits weirdly at mealtimes. 

‘’Neil, sweetheart, there’s another bottle of maple syrup in the fridge if we need it.’’

He nods. ‘’We’ll be fine. How are they coming along?’’

‘’First one’s almost cooked.’’

Playing house comes naturally to Susan. Neil tells her what to do, and she does it. He’s not mean, per se, just - _pushy_. Nothing like he was with Billy’s mom. 

Susan comes into the dining room with a smile on her face and a plate of pancakes in hand. Max looks up at her and smiles when she pushes the plate in front of her. The rest of breakfast is quiet. Susan asks Max about school, about her plans for summer. It’s nothing Billy’s actually interested in, but he knows not to disturb the lack of attention being thrown his way. Being ignored is _good._ It means he’s less likely to slip up, or if he does, they might not notice. 

He smothers his pancakes in maple syrup; it’s nicer that way, way too sweet and sugary in just the way he likes. 

‘’Would that be fine with you, Billy?’’

His head snaps up. ‘’Sorry?’’

Susan eyes him carefully. Sympathy saturates her gaze, and it makes his gut twist. ‘’Would you be fine to drop Max off at her friends' place tonight?’’

‘’Oh. Yeah, that’s fine.’’

Neil’s glaring, watching for Billy to fuck up, like he always does. But Susan just smiles and Max goes back to chewing _ way _ too loudly. He’d rather smash his head against the hardwood table and never wake up then be here, where every movement seems to be studied down to the finest detail. To just blackout. 

It’s fine, he thinks. 

_The_ _deal_, remember?

——

Max is obviously in a mood by the afternoon, because when three rolls around she’s standing outside Billy’s door fidgeting.

‘’What?’’ he says. She peers through the crack in the door. 

‘’Can we go yet?’’

Billy’s in the middle of sorting through the job posts in the newspaper, sitting on the ground surrounded by paper clippings. ‘’Jesus.’’ he groans. ‘’It’s not even four yet,’’

‘’Yeah, but I’m _bored,_’’ 

Max is what, thirteen? Shouldn’t she be able to entertain herself? 

‘’Okay?’’ 

_ ‘’Okay _?’’ she mocks. 

‘’Why don’t you go skate or something?’’

She shrugs. Billy doesn’t respond to her, still shuffling through the paper with a pen in his other hand. She huffs and leaves. At some point, she must start talking to the other kids, because he hears the tell-tale walkie talkie static coming from somewhere in the house. 

Most of the jobs are retail positions are someplace called Starcourt Mall, which he’s pretty sure doesn’t even exist. And the thought of having to talk to people all day whilst being stuck in a stuffy artificially-lit store? It’s like Billy’s own personal hell. He scratches all those out with a red pen.

Max storms in right at four. She doesn’t even knock. 

‘’Billy.’’

‘’Yeah, I’m coming. _ God_.’’ 

——

She has to give him directions to the Wheeler’s house as he drives, scrounging them up from her memory. 

When they finally arrive Max hops at the car and runs to the door. She doesn’t even say thanks, so Billy yells ‘’Hey!’’

She turns around and says a snark dripping _ ‘thanks’._

One of the kids, - the one who always wears a hat - greets Max and starts pushing her inside enthusiastically. 

Steve’s also there, behind him. There’s no way he doesn’t see Billy. 

‘’Hey, just give me a second, alright?’’ he pushes the kid off him as he grapples to squeeze out the door. 

It’s one thing to have a heart to heart intoxicated in the middle of the night but right now it’s still light out and they’re both completely sober. Everyone in Hawkins can see them here, too. Billy briefly considers hitting the accelerator and speeding away.

‘’You look so much worse.’’

_ ‘’Thanks,_ Harrington. You lookin’ for a fight? I’ll give you one,’’

Steve shakes his head. ‘’No, you asshole. You know what I mean.’’ 

Billy clicks his tongue. What can he say to that? He leans out of the car window and keeps his eyes focused on Steve. The way he’s studying his face makes him feel small, but it’s laced with tenderness. Fuckin' _weird_, that's what it is, the way Harrington has the impulse to mother-hen everyone and everything that moves.

“Hey, why don’t you come inside? We’re making pizza and Mr and Mrs Wheeler are out on date night, so you can drink and I won’t tell anyone.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks. Do you really think Max and the kids would wanna spend time with me? They probably think I’m beating you up right now,”

“Uh,” he says, and stifles a laugh. “You’re probably right. But - I don’t want to be alone with Nancy and I said I’d come for the kids because Dustin practically begged me, but,” he winces. “It’s so _weird,_” 

“I’m not spending time with that group of freaks.”

“Not freaks, Hargrove. They’re fucking kids,” and yeah, he’s right - they’re just kids trying to make the best of their situations. 

“Okay.”

“_Really_? You're serious?”

“Yeah, I’ll hang with you. Pizza right? I’m not doing any weird shit though. I just - don’t wanna go home right now,”

Steve nods. “We can just stay outside,”

“Yeah,” he says, and it feels like a weight taken from his shoulders. 

He keeps making this little bobbing motion with his head, nodding along with what Billy’s saying. A niggling thought in Billy insists that it’s because he’s _ scared, _on edge around the harsh corners of Billy. Considering their history, it would make sense. 

“I, uh.” Steve looks back at the house. The kids are getting loud now, and their yelling echoing from inside. “I better go tell them I’m ditching for a little while.” He cringes. 

So Steve heads inside, and the kids noticeably get even _ louder _ the second he walks in the door, all clamouring for attention and swarming around him. Billy kills the engine, takes a seat on the hardwood porch. It doesn’t take too long for Steve to escape the grasp of what sounds like _six_ screaming kids, and he comes back out with a whole plate of albeit messy-looking pizza. 

“They’re kind of pissed I didn’t give them the first one,”

“They’ll live.”

Steve squats down right beside him. “Hey,”

Billy’s head snaps up, raising an eyebrow. It hurts to move his face, the bruising around his nose making everything tense up. Harrington takes his silence as an invitation to keep talking, which is _ such _ a _ him _ thing to do. 

“About last night -“

“We’re not talking about that.”

“No, I -“ he exhales, all exasperated and irritated. “I just wanted to check you were _ okay_.” 

He shrugs. “I’m fine. Fucking leave it alone, alright?”

Steve puts his hands up, leaving himself defenceless. “Okay.”

There’s a minute of uncomfortable silence, filled in by Steve eating his pizza slice clumsily and slow. “Have you heard of this Starcourt mall? They’re building like, on the outside of town, or something. Apparently it’s gonna be _ massive _ .” The words are punctuated with small bites, which is totally _ gross_. 

“_That _ fucking pace!” Steve goes all wide-eyed at the sudden volume of Billy’s voice. “It’s in all the job openings, and I was like, holy shit? Where the fuck is that?” 

He laughs, and it’s so quiet and soft that it makes Billy conscious of how rough his voice must sound. ‘’It’s not built yet. I’m thinking of applying for something, though,’’

‘’Not planning on doing summer classes? I’m shocked, princess.’’

Steve looks _ agonised _ at the pet name, rolling his eyes and scoffing. ‘’I don’t think I’m even going to college.’’

‘’Oh.’’

‘’Yeah.’’ he taps his fingers against the wooden porch, tension held high on his shoulders. ‘’I haven’t told anyone that.’’ the laugh that escapes him is dry and absent of any actual humour. It makes Billy shift awkwardly, unsure of what to say. 

He murmurs quietly, ‘’Thank you, then,’’

‘’For what?’’

‘’For telling _ me_.’’ 

His eyes study Billy carefully, chewing on his lip and considering what to say next. ‘’You know this is kind of weird, right?’’

Billy grins. ‘’I’m aware. You don’t think it’s even weirder for me? Considering I could have _ killed _ you?’’

Steve grimaces, and it’s true so he can’t even say a gentle,_ no - it’s not your fault. _He doesn’t say anything, tension drawing his shoulders tight. Billy keeps talking, ‘’People would be suspicious of us even being in the same room.’’ and he’s right, but Steve’s felt the stares of people ever since the rumours started spreading about Jonathan and Nancy.

‘’I’m long past caring about that, now,’’

‘’Yeah. I know,’’ 

He expects some snide comment, a sharp look, or _ something_. It doesn’t come, though, Billy just sits there and shrugs. ‘’I don’t know how to act around you. It’s one thing at the junkyard, but here? Jesus,’’ his voice is low, words spoken only so that Steve can hear them. He wants to say _ I know, _ tell him he _ gets it _ and _ I want to do something to help you but I don’t know how - I don’t know why I want to help you so much when you hurt me so bad - _

He keeps his mouth shut.

‘’We’ll just keep it to ourselves, alright?’’ Billy says. His face is almost frenzied, fear bleeding into his gaze - and Steve’s seen that look before in the mirror, so he moves in closer and nods. There’s barely any space between where their hands sit. 

_ ‘’Steve_!’’ 

Billy jumps back. 

‘’_Jesus_,’’ Steve groans. ‘’What now?’’

‘’The pizzas are gonna _ burn_, Steve!’’ Dustin shrieks. 

‘’Okay, I’m coming. God.’’ he shoots Billy a quick regretful look and heads back inside. 

It must be getting later - the blue of the sky begin to mix into mellow golds at the very edge of the horizon. There’s a chill in the air, cold prickling against the bare skin of his arms. The breeze picks up in the trees, but Billy’s jacket is in the car so he’s just going to have to withstand it. The pizza Steve brought out for them sits, mostly untouched and cold, on the porch. 

For the first time since California, he begins to think that maybe his life isn’t _ all _ that bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i seem to always have formatting errors when i post, so don't mind those. im trying to fix em up!


	3. simple in the moonlight, now it’s so complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for homophobic slurs + [implied] violence.

“_U__m_.” 

Billy looks up. Steve’s sitting beside him, smoking one of Billy’s cigarettes and his rubbing insistently at his eyes. Max looks down at them from the front door, eyebrows drawn in confusion. 

“Hey,” Steve says, quietly into the night air. “What’s up?”

“Nothing - I just thought we should probably head home,”

She’s right. It’s almost eight, the sky dark and purple. Clusters of clouds have come over, thick and grey, and he can’t see the stars hiding behind them but he keeps himself fixated on the smoke coming from his cigarette. They’ve been sitting out here for ages, and he wonders what Nancy must be thinking. She’s probably fussing over Steve, hoping Billy doesn’t take shit out on him again - or she just doesn’t care. 

He’s always got that vibe she’s _ kind _ of a bitch. 

Steve’s had to keep popping inside to keep the kids from complaining about his absence, as well as feeding them. Nancy really should be handling them, but she’s apparently _ studying_. At least, that’s what she told Steve, smile pulled tight. 

But for the most part, he’s been sitting on the porch with Billy, conversation going around in circles as Steve grew tired underneath the evening sky. The cherry of the cigarette hanging from his mouth, rambling about how much school sucks. They’re not even talking about anything _ important _ anymore, but Billy finds he doesn’t want it to stop. Now Max is here, though, shuffling around and looking impatient. He gets it - every time they’re late Neil gets angry, and Max has to scamper off to her room and face looking at Billy’s fresh bruises once she comes out. Even if she hates him enough to think he deserves it. 

Maybe she doesn’t. There’s a possibility it might be genuine, _ honest _ concern. 

"Yeah, right." He says, nodding. He spares Steve a look, stubs his cigarette against the porch and watches the ash drop and scatter. 

"Hargrove." 

"What?"

"Drive safely."

——

Max frowns at him in the car ride home. She doesn’t _ say _ anything, just keeps her lip upturned and crosses her arms. 

"Oh my God, _ what_?"

"Why’d you stay tonight?"

And yeah, he could lie and say something like _ just to annoy you, _ but he’s not bothered. "Harrington asked me to."

"Huh."

——

Tuesday nights aren’t usually slow, but the long day leaves the burn of work-weariness. The house is quiet when they walk in - Neil in front of the television, Susan on the armchair near him with her head stuck in a book. They barely notice Billy walking upstairs to his room. 

The job opening clippings are pushed to the side. He eyes them briefly, but his eyes are too tired to keep sorting through the words. The blankets strewn across the unmade made look warm and inviting and Billy’s hunger was staved off by the pizza, as well as the itch for nicotine. Even better, Neil has barely spoken a word to him all day. There’s no nervous anticipation there, either, just a numbing tiredness. He pulls his shirt off and wears the well worn band shirt he can’t bring himself to get rid of. There’s tears in it, but the fabric has worn down to be so soft on his skin that he can’t help but love it. Everything’s a little fuzzy, exhaustion from another school day and spending time with Harrington making him feel worn at the edges. 

Usually Billy falls asleep listening to music. Tonight, for the first time in a _long_ time, he crawls in bed with eyes too heavy to even _ try _ and stay awake. 

——

Wednesday mornings are usually shit. They’re daunting, in a way, forcing you to realise that you still have three whole more excruciating days until the weekend’s relief. 

But he feels a more _off_ than usual from the moment he wakes up, not quite on edge but just - weird. It takes Billy even longer to gather the energy to keep his eyes open and remember he has to pull himself away from bed to actually _get_ _up_. 

Max is still asleep when he shuffles past her room. He’s awake way too early, which is probably what made him feel so weird. It’s something new in his system - falling asleep so early now misaligning his whole body clock. 

It’s _ annoying_. 

The stairs creak when he walks down to the kitchen, but Neil has already left early for work, so it doesn’t make him lighten his steps like it usually does. He’s more worried about waking Maxine up and having to face the wrath of a thirteen year old, especially one so brash and without enough sleep. 

The sun is already up, teasing Billy with the tantalising reminder that summer will be here soon. Hawkins is practically _ Antarctica _ in comparison to the heat he grew up with, freezing over as quickly as autumn hits, and the long wait for relief from the cold temperatures is agonising. His feet feel frozen against the cold kitchen tiling, shuffling around in search for where Susan put the bread. 

It’s stupid, but Billy can’t help the way the thought of buying his own bread fills him with warmth. His fingers fumble when he goes to make his toast, distracted and eyes unfocused. The prospect for his future swarms around in his head at every moment, now; even the most mediocre possibilities count as motivation. Just survive Neil long enough to earn money, then leave without looking back. 

He pulls his shoulders in closer to his chest and flinches when he feels a hand press against his bare shoulder, rough and forceful. It takes a moment to register how uncharacteristically small and uncalloused it is. 

“Can you move? I’m trying to eat here. _ Geez_,’’

Max crosses her arms and shoves again, opening the cupboard without caring how close it is to hitting his face. She pushes him and he pushes back, gently but with enough impact to make her glare. Taking the bait, Max uses all her strength and elbows him again, trying to get around him so she can reach the higher shelves. The toaster pops, load and sudden, making the both of them jump. His heart embarrassingly quickens at the unexpected noise, jumping back and leaving enough room for Max to squeeze through. 

She takes her cereal bowl to the table, pulling the chair so roughly it makes a scraping noise against the floor. 

“El and I wanted to skate home together this afternoon. I’m trying to teach her,” 

“_El_?”

“She’s a friend from school.” 

He shoves a piece of buttered toast into his mouth. “M’kay.”

“Ew, Billy. Don’t _ talk _ while you’re _ eating_. It’s gross.” Max scowls. She takes a spoonful too big and milk dribbles out the sides of her mouth. She’s a _ total hypocrite. _

He’s in a different shirt, but his jeans are the same ones from last night, cigarettes still in the pocket. It takes a moment of shuffling around to find them. There’s a noticeable emptiness to the pack, given to Harrington last night. The space in between the cigarettes huddled up into the carton isn’t a _ massive _ difference, but it rings with familiar memory; Harrington hunched over with his head tilted towards Billy, blowing plumes of smoke into the night air. 

He lights one. 

Max is sitting there at the table, bowl of cold cereal still full and entirely unappealing. Her half-smile is weirdly knowing, and Billy feels uncomfortably _ seen._

"You shouldn’t smoke in the house. Not when Mom’s still home,"

“Listen, do you want a ride or _not?” he sighs._

“Yeah, ‘course,” 

_“Okay_. Get moving, then.” 

She grins, clearly smug and satisfied at managing to annoy him. They may not be blood related, and she’s not his _ sister _ , but sometimes he gets weirded out by how similar their mannerisms are. Especially that look - _ Jesus_. 

He drops her off at Hawkins Middle School early, but she runs in with her backpack sitting _ way _ too low on her back anyway. Billy didn’t pick her as the type to be so excited for school, but he figures she’s weird like that. It’s not like he cares.

In the rear view mirror of his car he can see the mottled skin of his nose, still in hues of yellow and sickly brown. It’s not as bad, though, nowhere near fresh. It’s not like anyone’s going to ask questions, and the only person who might has already seen him at his worst. 

Billy still can’t wrap his head around that. Steve has no reason, not a single one, to be so tolerant of Billy. He could just have easily _ decked _ him at the Wheeler’s house, settle shit there and then. Instead, he sat with him all night and asked real quiet, ‘_Can I bum one off you?’_, then let Billy _ light _ it for him. 

Like, it’s not quite clicking in his brain yet; that Steve’s being so nice to him. Maybe that’s just a Steve _ thing,_ something he just does. 

Classes start earlier for him than they do for Max, people buzzing around the parking lot. Tommy and Carol are there. Billy pointedly ignores them. There’s _ one _ week of school left. Five more fucking days, and then Billy’s free again - even if his summer will be taken up by working instead of actually having fun. It’s worth it though, for the chance he’ll save _really_ well, and skip town by September. Pick up an apprenticeship and get the fuck out of Neil’s grip. 

It’s all that’s been keeping him going for the last twelve months. A taste of freedom - so close to escaping. He supposes the whole, admittedly weird thing with Harrington might help, too. 

They avoid each other for the whole day, Steve sticking with Nancy and Jonathan, keeping his head down and eyes away from Billy. He unpacks his locker and watches Billy from a distance, but when Billy turns around to look at him he turns away quickly.

There's not even basketball practice on, on account of the coach contracting some bullshit illness. And so, the boredom creeps back in, never fully satiable. 

His thoughts catch up with him again in the afternoon, once the bell rings and high school students leave in drones. Billy hangs back for what can’t be more than a few moments, organising his things without being hassled by Tommy and Carol. Steve, it seems, must have had a similar idea, because he leans his shoulder against the locker next to Billy’s without invitation. 

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," he spits. There's hostility in the tone of his voice, hoping to push and get some back.

"Shut up, man. I needed to ask you something,"

"My hand in marriage, Harrington?"

That makes him laugh, cheeks flushed a healthy, warm pink. Billy likes the way his laugh lights up the whole of his face, the way he leans into it.

"No, _Hargrove_, shut your damn mouth for _ one _ second."

Billy turns towards him. "What now?"

"Any chance your up to date on your English notes? Please? It's dire,"

He kind of is, actually. All of his essays are mostly complete, now, finished early and sitting at the bottom of a pile in a desk somewhere. Extra work, too. Anything to keep him occupied. There's no need for notes anymore, considering he's covered nearly all of the content.

He nods halfheartedly.

"It’s - just." Steve sighs, forehead pinched in irritation. "Mine are shit. I really could use your help,"

Billy snorts. "No way."

"I have no one else, Hargrove, and I know you’re good at English so you can’t even deny it. You're in the fucking _smart_ class -"

"Wheeler?"

"What? _ Nancy _? Oh God, no way, she totally judges me and it’s just so awkward. You owe me, man, remember?"

Billy freezes. "Owe you for _ what_?"

Steve's voice drops in volume. "That night. You were wasted, so I drove you home. Picked your car up and brought it back - holy shit, do you not remember?"

He stops talking, chews on his lip. "...what do you need, exactly?

"Enough help to bullshit _one_ essay,"

"Just one?"

"Yeah. Please, I’m so screwed, man, you have no idea."

"Yeah, yeah, alright. I’ll try my best,"

"Holy shit, for real? Oh my God, I owe you,"

‘’You _ really _ do.’’

In the library, afternoon sun high through the windows, he rests his head against the table and rubs at his eyes in a desperate attempt to prepare for whatever shit Harrington’s written. Steve pushes the stack of paper towards him. It’s not thick, just a few sheets of his scrawling handwriting stapled together. There are already a few obvious mistakes jumping out from the page, some words scribbled out in angry red pen. ‘’Okay.’’ he tries to remain composed.

Billy doesn’t think he’s intelligent, but he doesn’t want to let Steve down. He reads the paper carefully, trying to take every word in and mull it over in his mind. Steve’s jumbled up letters here and there, words mixed around and thrown in without context. It’s not _ unreadable _, just not the work of anyone particularly comfortable in using their words. He can’t turn around and ask if Steve’s serious, because he one hundred per cent is, but Billy is certain he’d rather not submit an essay in the first place. 

The memory of Steve telling him he didn’t want college sticks out in his head like a sore thumb, entirely unforgettable. Billy was the first to know that, and maybe that’s why Steve’s persisting with submitting it; he can’t find the way to broach it to anyone else yet. 

"Okay," he repeats, slower this time and trying to come off as comforting - something Billy’s not exactly experienced with. He cares way too much about accidentally making Steve’s face fall again, which is stupid, but he finds he can’t bring himself to turn around and snap. It would be so much easier, too, to turn and be a complete dickhead. "It’s legible."

Steve winces. 

"You’re sure you wanna submit it?"

"I mean," he tilts his head, chews his lip and looks about ready to _ crumble. _He lowers his head and hits it against the library table. Billy’s so unsure of what to do that he considers just leaving. He looks up again and huffs. "I don’t know."

It’s not really an answer or what Billy was looking for, but Steve’s not outright saying _no_, so. He fiddles with the edges of the paper and keeps reading. 

“It’s workable,"

“Okay.” his voice is breathy and bordering on nervous, a slight pink high upon his cheeks. “Thank God.” Even though he doesn’t sigh, he looks close to it. 

Billy wants to laugh, reach across and elbow him just for the fun of it. He doesn’t though, just keeps observing Steve. He scribbles over his writing, underlining words and adding more in. After a while, it looks _ almost _ illegible and messy, but when Billy explains his errors Steve furrows his brows in concentration and tries to take everything in. It’s not going to be an award-winning essay, but if it’s good enough for Steve, it’s good enough for him. 

The library is completely empty, no one but the librarian shuffling around in the books. They’re huddled up in a corner desk, Steve hunched over rewriting the essay on a new sheet of paper.

"Hey, Harrington?"

He looks up from his spot slowly, eyes dragging up to Billy’s face. The end of a pen is stuck in his mouth, chewing on the cap. 

"What’s the time?"

“Like, almost five. Why?” 

His hand moves to his mouth, nervously chewing at his thumb. “I gotta get home,” Steve keeps his eyes trained on Billy, lips pursed. 

“Yeah, uh. That’s fine.” 

He begins to pack up, gathering his things and moving from his chair. Steve grabs his wrist, just for a second, then lets go again. 

“Tonight?”

Billy’s mouth goes dry. It takes him a moment to croak out a quiet, “Yeah.”

Max will be home by now, chased back into the house by the beginnings of dawn. Whoever El is, Billy hopes she’s home by now too. It’s not a hard drive back to Cherry Lane but Billy prefers to draw it out, taking it slow and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He thinks of Steve, chewing on the end of his own pen, lips red and split slicked. It’s one of the _weirdest_ afternoons he’s had in a while. 

The living room lights are on when he pulls into the driveway, yellow and radiant. He tries to think of some excuse to skip dinner, another meal spent in agonising long silences. By the time he’s reached the door, Billy accepts his fate; yet another meal spent with Neil Hargrove.

“Billy!” Susan calls, voice carrying through the house. “You’re right on time. We’re just about to start eating.”

Max is sitting at the table, legs manoeuvred into another strange position. There’s an angry, red scratch on her face, running from the outer edge of her eyebrow to her cheek. 

One time, right before they left for Hawkins, Neil wore a ring when he hit him. It left a cut almost exactly like _ that _. 

"Max." he says, stern and unwavering - but he’s scared, so on edge that his fingers start to shake. 

She doesn’t look worried, just looks up from her plate and chews."Fell over while skating." her cheeks flush red when she says it, and her eyes avert from Billy's stare.

She’s _ embarrassed_. He’s relieved, but it’s also fucking hilarious.

He eats dinner without a word, Max blabbing about her skateboarding enough that he doesn’t even have to try. Susan pours herself a glass of wine, and asks, "How was your day, Billy?"

Somewhere, deep down, Billy knows she has good intentions. He cannot believe that right now, though. 

"Fine."

She smiles, pushing for more conversation. 

"You stayed back this afternoon?"

He nods. "Had to help someone with a bit of schoolwork."

"What subject?"

"Uh, just English. Essays, y’know. He needed someone to look over one."

Neil looks up at that. "Who’s this, Billy?"

He stutters, taken by surprise by Neil’s inquiry. "Uh, his name’s Steve."

"Now, _Billy_," he leans closer to where Billy’s seated at the other end of the table. "If he’s another one of your little _ faggot _ friends -"

Billy flinches. "No, sir."

"Good."

Susan doesn’t say much after that, and Max looks like she wants to crawl up into a ball, so. He’s pretty sure dinner has been ruined. Neil’s glare is uncomfortably piercing along his skin, making Billy fidget with his hands under the table. 

Billy sneaks out to the junkyard again, same cigarette pack from last night in tow, and waits around for Steve. He doesn’t have anything to drink, so he tries to savour his last cigarettes and embrace their smooth low burn in his throat. Darkness settles over Hawkins like a blanket. He likes the way it hides a multitude of sins, instead of laying him bare and bruised for all the world to see. Steve doesn’t come for a while, leaving him alone.

When he does, his headlights almost blind Billy with their glaring white.

"Holy shit, warn a guy, will you?"

Steve stretches his leg towards him in a half-hearted kick. "You’re fine." he groans. 

"You do some more writing, pretty boy?’’

Billy watches as his face sours into a scowl, frustrated at his teasing. "No way. Not gonna do more than I _ have _ to,"

"Fair enough." he says, shrugging. 

They’re the only people out for miles around, surroundings so empty it sometimes feels unnerving, but Steve squeezes into his space when he goes to sit against the flat earth. His shoulders visibly de-tense when he leans his form up against the hard steel of the Camaro, an exhale shaking through his chest. The cigarette stays lit, perched between Billy’s fingers. Steve considers it for a moment, eyes flicking over the contour of his hands. It feels less like an observation, and more of an invitation - he just doesn’t know _what_ _for_. 

“Can I bum one off you?” asks Steve, and Billy remembers everything about last night all over again. It occurs to him how regular this is becoming, all of a sudden, the rhythm they’ve found themselves in and can’t escape. His voice is soft and sweet, genuine in the most raw way. They do that to one another, he supposes; stripping each other down and defenceless.

He’s left the quiet hanging for a moment too long, and Steve subtly inches away, trying his best to give Billy his space. 

“Yeah.” he holds one out, taken from the pack, and keeps his eyes trained as Steve takes it and keeps it with the tight line of his lips. 

“Light me?” he mumbles, and Billy couldn’t even dream of saying _ no _. 

He’s a little hazy, nerves from earlier making him numb, so it takes him a few tries until the lighter finally strikes, flame orange at the tip. Steve leans forward, and their sudden closeness makes Billy’s heart start. The anticipation crawling under his skin goes unquestioned- he puts it down to their close proximity reminding him of the first punch thrown, that night. Neither knows what to say, so they let the heady silence fill the space for a moment. It’s _ too _ easy to get lost in it, to drown underneath it and find himself in his own thoughts again. 

“They’re looking better.” 

Steve doesn’t even need to say what _ they _ are, Billy knows by the close eye inspecting his face. He nods, slow in quiet contemplation. 

“I’m okay, Harrington. No need to take care of me like those brats,”

“Yeah, well,” his hands sit so close to Billy’s leg that he can feel the heat radiating from them. “You’re not doing a great job of it yourself.” 

Billy scoffs. “I don’t know. _ I _ feel like I’m doing pretty well.” 

“Shut up, Hargrove. You wouldn’t know caringif it _hit_ you in the face.” it’s not completely dry, said with humour wavering in Harrington’s voice, but - it’s so ironic that Billy has to laugh. He tries, bites down on his lip, but it comes out anyway. 

“What’s so funny?” he demands. 

It takes Steve probably too long to process it, Billy’s judgemental silence creeping under his skin.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. _ Oh_.” 

“Who did this to you, then? _ Shit_, man.” 

Billy briefly considers whether it’s worth it to shut up, or to simply _ deck _ him. It’s not like people get to go around digging their petulant fingers into his business - into his life. What goes on at home isn’t anyone’s fucking business but Billy’s, even that time they had to drive him to the hospital. There are two clear options here, a crossroad that he has no choice but to confront. The part of him he’s buried so far down wants him to breakout, scream and cry into Steve’s arms just to feel their heavy warmth around him. The other, the constructed Billy he had to build too big and grow into itches to put up a fight. ****

"It’s -" he pauses, tries not to let his voice crack with the emotion weighing heavy upon it. “Just my dad. I’m fucking fine, though, alright? He just gets pissy.” 

Steve looks like he might bite for a second, push him further and prod at the exposed wounds. He pulls away, and nods complacently. "Okay." he croaks. Billy takes a drag of his cigarette.

Pointedly ignoring that thread of conversation, Steve asks, ‘"How’s the job search going?" it’s awkward and quiet, words simply in lieu of sitting in despair soaked silence. 

Billy almost winces. "It’s, uh, fine. I’m dropping down to the community pool for an interview. It’d be nice, for a summer job."

"Hot as hell, too."

He almost blacks out at that, dumbstruck; until he dimly realises what Steve means. "May as well spend the heat at a pool, though, right?"

"Yeah. It sounds cool, Hargrove. Totally a _ you _ job,"

"What’s that s’posed to mean?"

Steve grins, warm and spread out against the hues of his face - every time Billy sees that smile it feels like spun sugar upon the tip of his tongue. "Y’know. It’s such a douchebag job, is all,"

"Hey!" he says, elbowing him in response. "At least it’s a job. Not all of us can be spoilt princesses, _pretty_ _boy_."

Just how badly Steve wants to retaliate, Billy will never know, because the frustrated look on his face changes to one of recollection almost immediately. His eyebrows shoot up, brown eyes wide and lips parted."What?"’ Billy says, confused at the sudden change in body language. 

"You know how to roll a joint, right?"

He scoffs. ‘’Of fuckin’ _ course _ I do, princess. Why? You been buying _ drugs_?’’

He bites his lip, like he’s _ embarrassed _ \-- and the worst thing is that it looks _ good_. The little reactions Billy manages to pull out of Steve fuel a fire in him he didn’t even know existed, half power-trip and half self-satisfaction that _ he _ can make Steve look like that. 

"I’ve got weed in my car, if you wanna. I’m just _ awful _ at rolling, so."

"For real?"

‘’Yeah, man. Swear I’m not screwing with you,”

“Thought you’d turned bitch, _ King _ Steve,”

Steve clicks his tongue in faux-irritation. “No, I just-“ he makes this huffing noise, which Billy is pretty sure is his attempt at stifling a laugh. “Got sick of being a shitty person. The whole thing with Nancy - and then the kids, of course,” 

“Right.” he says, feeling stuck and unsure of what to say. Eyes trained on the ground, he doesn’t notice Steve leave his side until he returns again, baggie in hand. He pushes it into Billy’s hand, open and outstretched against the dirt. His concentration zeroes in on rolling the joint, crushing the cigarette previously held in his hand into the dirt, bending easily underneath his fingers. 

"You completely lied to me."

Billy’s not quite sure whether Steve’s talking to him, or just speaking in vague sentences aimed at the stars above them. Steve’s glares at him when he looks up again. 

"What? _ Me_?" he grunts.

"Yeah! I thought you were totally an asshole, like, picking fights."

"Good. So much better than people knowing shit."

_ "Billy_," Steve says, mouth so soft around the syllables of his name that he feels his heart stop and stutter. "Don’t say that shit. You shouldn’t have to, like -," he sighs, back stretching against the hood of the Camaro. Tension pinches his jaw. "Keep everything in like that."

"Told you it’s fuckin’ fine."

"No, listen - okay? I want you to be able to talk to me."

''As if."

"Think about it, okay? We obviously both feel like shit here, why not share it with someone? Just - _think_ about it,"

He takes a deep breath in deep consideration. "What about you, then? What, I just dump everything onto you and hope for the best? No way,"

"Not like that. Sharing things, Billy. I don’t know about you, but I feel really fucking stuck here, and it’s not like I can tell the kids my shit. Parents don’t care, either. So why not?"

"We can’t tell anyone, though,"

"Yeah, uh, I know. We can still _do_ _it_,"

"Right," he says, nodding slowly. The lighter in his hand flickers, flame struggling to keep alive, catching against the paper. He takes a drag. 

Steve wraps his arms around his knees, shirt bunched up at his waist. "Okay. Try it, then."

"Like, what, tell you something?"

"Yeah. Start off easy. Favourite subject?"

Billy chews on his lip, eyes flickering towards Steve whilst he quietly mulls over the question. Steve extends his hand and Billy passes the joint along.

"English. Lit, specifically,"

"_Knew_ it," he grins. 

"Fuck off," Billy spits, but the smile that pulls at the end of his lips can't be hidden.

Steve doesn't stop watching him, and he can't shake the feeling of being so _seen_ off. "Why English?" he asks.

“I, uh, like books. Reading’s fun."

He keeps grinning, all cat who caught the canary, joint between his fingers. ‘’So what do you read, then?"

“Mostly the stuff we do in class. Jane Austen, shit like that."

“Jesus. I don’t think I’ve read an assigned book since middle school," he huffs. 

“You should try it. It’s weirdly cathartic,”

“_Cathartic _?”

“Like, satisfying, the same way smashing glass that night was,”

“Oh," he murmurs. "I get that. I just can’t read, like, at all. I tried, y’know - my mom was always big on books,” he takes another drag from the joint, eyes still focused, but Billy can tell he’s starting to get there. “Every time I pick one up I reread the same page five times.”

“Isn’t that weird, Harrington. I think I’m more of a freak _ for _ reading,”

“I think that’s a pretty cool secret, Billy.” and there’s his name again, rolling off the tip of Steve’s tongue like it _deserves_ to be there. 

He's smooth red lips and smug pinched cheeks, nudging Steve and stealing the joint from him. “Thanks, Steve.” He could get used to saying that out loud.

They sit like that for what must be a few hours, because the dark takes on a new shade of blue and the Hawkins feels even emptier. Swapping stories about school, passing joints back and forth. _ ‘Steve’ _ passes from his lips so many times that it’s intoxicating, buzzing him higher. The wind picks up at about two and it rummages through the trees with a vengeance. He breaks the comfortable silence between them; leaning over to Steve and resting his shoulder against the others, too high to care, "I’m fucking _ starved _." 

"You wanna grab food?"

"What, you gonna take me for dinner, pretty boy?"

"Ugh, shut up. You know what I mean. There’s a 7/11 around, if you wanna go,"

"Sure," he shrugs. "Why not?"

"Your car or mine?"

"Mine. Move your fuckin’ _beemer_ so we can get out,"

Steve scoffs but his eyes don't show any sign of resentment, just glowing warmth, even though it's dark out now. Hints of starlight shine from the evening sky, ethereal in their appearance. He wonders how they got here - such a change of pace for the two of them, wrapped up in the night together. The trees huddle around the streets as he walks, threatening in their darkness and stature. Everything that used to be mediocre now carries a risk.

Keeping his eyes away from the trees but senses still tuned in, waiting for danger, he parks the car on the side of a street close to the junkyard. Billy's smoking a joint in the driver’s seat of the Camaro when he returns. "You good?" he asks, head leaning out of the open window. 

"Yeah," Steve says, nodding and moving into the passenger seat. 

"Good."

Billy glances at him, mindlessly fiddling with the keys. He starts the car, engine revving in harmony with the radio coming alive. He fiddles with the station, until something loud and brash and piercing to their ears starts to play. 

The Camaro is like a home for Billy, the only place since California where he can just _ sit _ , alone and unbothered. Steve being here feels more than personal; not an intrusion on his space, but rather a welcome addition he would have never _ guessed _ wanting. Even if he doesn’t know the song, he still taps his fingers against the dashboard and nods in time to a quick tempo. By the time they pull in, Steve is _ beaming _ at the way he screams the lyrics, even shifting his shoulders around like he’s trying to dance. 

“Gonna fill her up,” he says, patting the steering wheel of the car. “What’chya want?”

“Don’t put it like that,” Steve groans, wincing. “Dunno - soda and a candy bar? Just grab _ something_,” 

“Hey, she’s my girl, alright? Talk to this baby however I like.” he slams the car door closed, welcomed into the night air once more. 

“Sure, whatever, Billy. Just, feed me?” 

Steve shoves five dollars through the open window. Billy’s too struck by him to press his hand away, drowning in his warm gaze. It’s odd that such a simple request has the hairs on his arms standing - but it’s always _ more _ with them, personal underneath the casual facade. 

The bright white of the artificial lighting inside blinds him at first, a stark contrast to the low-light of the outdoors. Cold tiling on the floor, uncomfortably clean. 

The longer he looks at it the floor, eyes unfocused and glazed over, the more it begins to turn _ red _ . Somebody’s spilled water on the floor, right near the fridge, but all Billy can look at it and think of is the _ blood _ , messy against the bathroom floor. His mother shakes him off, pushes him away, tells him she’s _ fine _. He didn’t find the bandages in time, running into the medicine cabinet and trying to avoid the smashed porcelain plate littering the floor. 

"Billy," she says, again."It’s fine."

And she _ says _ it, but it’s not what he hears. If it wasn’t for him being such a failure she wouldn’t have bled onto the carpet, red and stubborn as hell to get out, she wouldn’t have -

"Um?"

"Uh," he stumbles. "Yeah, that’s all." pulls out cash from his pocket without even looking how much he’s supposed to be paying.

White tiling, just like in their bathroom.

His mind feels _ wrong_. Like everything’s suddenly started playing in slow-motion, blurring together at the edges. It’s just him. Billy’s the failure, always, the fucking bane of Neil and _everyone’s_ life. Max is confident and smart and not a fag but _ Billy _? He’s just a piece of shit. Someone who will never amount to anything, destined to rot away. 

He’s never been meant for anything great. 

"Don’t worry," she says, tone so soft and tender, and kisses his temple. There’s a burning sensation at his eyes, pounding beneath his temple.

When he returns again he finds Steve spread out as much as he can in the cramped seat, arm thrown out the open window and head leaning back, chest heaving with the dying glow of a joint.

"What’s up?" he asks, eyes flickering over Billy’s face. He shrugs and opens the driver’s seat door, shoving two soda cans and five candy bars against his chest. 

He’s tired, so fucking tired of feeling the tightness in his chest. The pull of tears at his eyes, worrying at fingertips with his mouth to try and stave off the tears. Not even the haze of weed is settling him down. Truthfully, he just wants to crawl up against Steve’s open chest and _sleep_. He starts the car and pulls into an off-road, somewhere quiet and secluded. There’s a song playing on the radio, and Steve hums quietly, stopping to sip from his coke can. 

"What’s this shit?"

"What, the song?" he furrows his brow. 

"Yeah."

"It’s - uh, The Smiths,"

Billy groans.

"Hey! It’s too late and I’m too tired to listen to something loud, and it was _ on,_ so."

"Fuck that."

‘’No way. Don’t bash _The_ _Smiths_,’’

He rolls his eyes and shoves Steve against the open car window, making him jump and clutch onto the soda can in his grasp. "Hey!’’ he gasps. "Hey," he repeats, quieter this time and lacking any of the humour the word was laced with. "Something’s up, man. You gotta tell me. Remember?"

"I don’t have to tell you anything, Harrington," he spits.

"Dunno. Think we kinda made a deal,"

"That’s bullshit and you know it."

Steve sighs. "Come on. Don’t tell me you’re _ pussying _ out of it,"

Steve knows how to push his buttons; force him into a corner and use his own words against him. It’s probably easier to give in, then to play another tug-of-war game. 

"It’s stupid. It’s just -" he stutters, has to pull in a sharp breath and remind himself to keep going. "Reminded of someplace."

"Back in California?"

"Yeah. Something like that," the Snickers bar is satisfying sweet in his mouth, distracting him enough. 

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." his head shakes a vigorous _ no _. Steve nods, reaching his hand out to touch Billy’s shoulder in an effort to show understanding. He gets the point across, Billy leaning into the simple touch more then he probably should, the way the press of Steve’s hand feels just as comforting as the freedom of the night breeze.

Steve must understand, sensing it without words, because he moves his hand lower towards his back and begins to _ comfort _ him, slow circular motions felt even through the fabric of his shirt. 

Billy’s life has fallen into a cycle - purposeful or not - of constant disappointment. In California, he had his friends, and his mom. It was always hot, the kind of heat it felt like they’d never find relief from. But it was _ good _ . Even once Max got there. Everything began to crumble and fray at the edges, but she was so bright eyed and eager to copy everything he did. His mom was _ God _ knows where, always trying to call when Neil wasn’t home - but she still tried.

So Billy was fine. He could manage.

And then he fucked up, _ again _. The memory is still far too tender to consider, raw like an open wound. 

He doesn’t want to talk about that with Steve, even if his hands are _ so _ warm and grounding against his back. The touch remains light, gentle pats upon the small of his back. Sitting like this, Billy can feel Steve’s breathing, the easy flow of in and out of his lungs. He wishes he could wrap himself up in the glow of Steve’s chest. 

"Hey?" comes Steve’s voice, so warm and quiet that it gives Billy chills. 

He looks up at Steve’s face, eyes tender under a sky of dying stars.

"You feeling okay?"

"Just stuck in my head,"

_ "_See_, _not stupid.I get that. Wanna bite?" he says, offering up the half eaten Mars bar. 

“Yeah.” he murmurs, leaning forward and taking the chocolate into his mouth whilst still in Steve’s grasp. He doesn’t pull away from Billy, letting him come close. 

There’s a sense of familiarity, sitting here - like they’re vibrating at the same level. Maybe it’s the _ almost _ camaraderie they’ve developed; in feeling alone and stuck in the suffocating and small-natured town that is Hawkins. Whatever it is, it leaves Billy buzzing. Not in a distracting sense, the type that brings nerves and heart-palpitations, but as if his body sings with the cicadas and the Morrisey’s voice through the radio. It's a high that makes him_ come down_ \- even if that makes no sense. 

The chocolate tastes sweet against his lips. Steve watches him eat it, slowly and careful not to smear it around his mouth. His cheeks warm under his observations, trying not to let it phase him and disturb the easy peace between them. The seats aren’t entirely comfortably when they’re both trying to stretch out, lazy and bordering on sleepy, so Billy hooks his legs over and climbs to the back seat. With one foot strained out further enough to reach Steve, he aims a weak kick against him. 

"Come ‘ere,"

“Alright, alright,” Steve groans, taking his sweet time in attempting to crawl to the back seat. 

There’s more leg-room this way, but the Camaro’s still narrow enough that their shoulders almost touch. Steve still takes sips from his coke can, and the way his cradles his hands around it with utmost gentleness makes him appear softer, smaller. It’s easy to forget that he’s taller then Billy, especially like this, hunched over and surrounded by shadows. The window beside Billy is rolled open to let the breeze through, enough to ruffle Steve’s hair which remains messed up from lying against the car seat. 

“Your dad,” he starts.

Billy looks up, still eating, and waits for Steve to continue. 

“Has he… always been like that?”

“Not exactly,”

“Am I _ allowed _ to know more?” 

“What’d you wanna know?”

“Max -“

“Jesus. No way. Never laid a hand on her, promise. I would have fuckin’ strangled him if he did,”

A heavy exhale comes out, Steve’s shoulders visibly deflating. “Right. Good. You, uh, ever tried to fight back?” 

The question makes Billy chew on his lip, half in genuine consideration - but also from genuine fear. What if Steve thinks he’s a pussy, just like Neil; if he puts two and two together and realises he’s a _queer_? Having that happen would spell the end for Billy. Not just the end of his time in Hawkins; Neil would probably threaten to kill him if he ever came back. 

“It’s - it’s not really worth it. I talk back, y’know. Gets me in more trouble," he grimaces, hollow laughter choking his throat.

"Shit. Yeah, probably not a _ great _ idea,"

"Nope." he agrees.

“What about your mom?”

“Susan isn’t my mom. She’s my step-mom, yeah, but not my _ mom_. Okay?”

"I just assumed -"

“Nothing like my real mom.”

“She was good?”

“_Too_ good,” he hangs his head.

Steve nods in thought. He finishes his drink, crushes it best he can. Sensing the strain in Billy’s voice, he changes the subject. “I always thought that about my mom, too. Think she married just because she had too,’’

“What, you’re telling me not everything’s happy families for you, pretty boy?”

“Nope,” he smiles, popping the ‘_p_’. “My dad’s kind of a dickhead. Different breed of dickhead to _yours_, but he’s still one. Always trying to tell me what to do. Just gets annoying,”

“So _ he’s _ the reason your applying for college,”

“Uh, yeah. Wants me to go to college and work with him in business, like a good little trust fund baby,”

“Don’t wanna hurt your feelings, Stevie, but I don’t know if that’s the best call,”

“Exactly! Like, as if I actually _ want _ to do that,”

“Easy solution for you; don’t.”

“I know, but -“

“Hey, I get it. So much better in the long run, though,”

“That’s why your staying in town for a summer job? That’s what you _ wanna _ do?”

He snorts. “Fuck no. Just need to make some money so I can skip town when it’s time. Then I’ll go back home and get an apprenticeship,”

“In what?”

“Mechanics, maybe. Haven’t decided yet - depends on what’s available, too,”

“You could totally go to college, Billy. I know how smart you are,”

“Doubt that. Not really my scene,”

“No - you’re in the _smart_ _classes_, douchebag. Guess I can’t criticise, though, can I?” 

“Guess not,” he grins. 

Steve stretches his arm out casually. “Shit, I’m tired.” the skin of his hand grazes feather-light against Billy’s neck, sending a wake-up call through his nerves. 

“Want me to drop you home? Or do I need to call your chauffeur, princess?”

“Christ, you never shut up,” he laughs. “Just don’t judge me if I fall asleep.”

Billy shrugs. “Sure,” 

Someone’s speaking on the radio, voice low and rambling, but the volume is low enough that he can’t decipher what they’re saying. It’s more white noise, at this point, simply filling the spaces in between their conversation. The way the shadows fall across Steve’s face, warming the contours of his cheeks with starlight, etches itself into Billy’s brain. His head leans into where Steve’s positioned his arm. Heavy breathing echoes from Steve and his eyes are beginning to look heavy, too. “I haven’t slept in a while,” he confesses.

Billy flicks his tongue at, wetting his lips. “Will it be better here?”

“Think so. You can uh, come closer. I won’t mind. Don’t move much in my sleep,” 

Steve presses his arm closer into Billy’s body, cramped against his neck and the leather of the seat. He nods and shuffled closer. The press of Steve is insistent and warm, welcoming presence of another his touch. 

His breathing deepens, more frequent and rhythmic. The hand connecting both of them shoves Billy closer, still gentle nonetheless. Steve’s chest is open and snug, hands tracing lightly against his back.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“What for?” Billy asks.

The only answer he gets comes in the form of a deep, sleepy inhale. Steve’s eyes flutter while they’re closed, but he’s so _ peaceful_. 

Billy gives in to the tug of exhaustion, too, tucked in between another boy's arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from lua by bright eyes :)


	4. i know I loved you blue, it’s the colour of my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for this chapter - there is discussion of self harm scars.

Steve leaves before Billy wakes. He has to untangle himself from him, arms looped around his back and leaving feather light touches. With especially careful movements, he manages not to interrupt Billy’s sleep. Whisperings of a night past still linger in the Camaro, an air of warmth neither will admit to still remaining. 

Morning sun streams through the trees gather around the deserted street, heavy green leaves hanging over and grazing against the car. It’s already starting to warm up, the earth humming gently with the temperature and springing everything to life. 

It’s better this way. When you’re high and tired everything suddenly becomes more appealing, he guesses, but Steve doesn’t think he could face the disgust on Billy’s face at having slept in such close proximity together. 

That would leave a mark. 

So instead of waiting around, he left.

They’re both busy with the end of school, anyway - Steve has to hand in his final essay for English today, no matter if it’s still god-awful. And he probably needs a shower, too. 

After managing to track down his car, pulled along the side of an off-track road, he drives back home slow in an attempt to try and stretch the ride out. The house is expectedly empty when he arrives, cold and untouched for another night. The cool staleness of the house is a harsh wake-up call, in stark contrast with the warmth of last night. 

The hot water runs right away, temperature high enough that the first drops bring the sizzle of pain to his skin. He needs to stop thinking - wonders if the steam filling the room can fog his brain up too. He can’t afford to think too much into things, and deep down he  _ knows _ it’s just loneliness and deep-seated touch starvation taking effect.

He  _ could _ go to Nancy - maybe. It’s not a good idea, but it’s probably better than hanging with Billy judging by the twisted way his gut feels right now. 

The worst thing is that it’s not a  _ new _ feeling, unfamiliar or unexplored. 

He really, really doesn’t want to put more thought into it. His back presses against the tile, providing a semblance of relief.  Steve wishes he could hide from the world today and keep away from Billy’s judging gaze for the rest of his short eternity. But school is almost over, so he may as well drag through the last couple of days - even if cruelty tarnishes Billy’s words  _ again _ , seeking him out and biting. 

It’s over now. He fucked it up. 

The fridge is starting to run low on food, but there’s enough to get him through three days. His parents only gave him a rough estimate of their arrival time, and he won’t admit it to himself, but he’s hoping it's sooner than later. 

His stomach twists, a sickening pull working its way in his gut. _ I fucked up _ , he thinks, playing like the chorus of a song stuck in his head. 

In theory, it was a good idea.  _ Great _ , even. Steve hardly ever sleeps and when he does he’s welcomed into the arms of gnarly monsters with an unruly appetite for  _ him _ . Creatures of science fiction which shouldn’t be possible, but  _ are _ . And Billy was so pliant and relaxed, close to him and  _ there _ , unguarded. 

The worst thing that could happen is that Billy decks him and calls him a  _ queer _ , or a  _ faggot _ . Or that rumours swirl around the school like a whirlpool, and Nancy looks at him with a disappointed furrow to her brow. 

There’s a burning sensation in his throat. Steve tries to swallow it down. 

——

The Camaro seems a lot bigger now he’s alone. He wonders how they felt squeezed tight next to each other, when in reality the backseat is really a wide expanse of space. 

But maybe it was less the space or lack thereof, and more to do with  _ them _ . There’s a bitterness to it, now, with the realisation of his loneliness settling in once again. It leaves him cold, self-loathing crawling into his skin like it belongs there. 

Billy drives home like that; weight heavy upon his shoulders. 

——

From then on, Steve loses track of the days. They pass too quickly, and he feels dumb-struck at the way the world keeps turning no matter how hard he begs it to stop. The whole thing makes his vision blurry and his head dizzy. He hands his final essays in, piles of paper covered in ink-black scribble. The writing is hard to read, mind scattered from too many sleepless nights to make any sense. 

A hazy feeling fills every corner of his head, a disconnect between his consciousness and reality. He  _ hates _ it. Wishes for clarity and still hands before he goes to sleep- eyes closed tight, nose red from crying.

Frankly, he feels like a child; crying petulantly for reasons Steve can’t even decipher. 

In between the blur of days, he gets a job. Nancy’s busy choosing where exactly she wants to attend, while Steve mourns any chance of going to college. So he takes the dead-end job that his dad pushes onto him, finally returning home like the prodigal son. 

Starcourt Mall hasn’t even opened yet, the ceremony taking planned to take place right at the end of school - to try and bring in as many kids as possible. So he has too much free time on his hands, spread out ahead for miles. Everyone’s chattering at school, buzzing with excitement to finally _leave_. There’s a party at someone’s house - he only knows because he hears Tommy pestering Carol about it down the hall - and prom will be in a couple of nights, too. Nancy nudges him whenever they exchange words, but he doesn’t feel _there_. Like, the sound bounces around the corners of his brain, never quite soaking up or making sense. 

Instead of dragging himself to whatever social event’s going on, he drops Dustin off at the arcade.  It’s a Friday night, and almost everyone is celebrating the end of school and  _ probably _ getting wasted, but Steve? Steve’s playing taxi driver for a twelve year old. 

Dustin’s pushy the moment he gets in the car, asking _what’s up, how was school?_ \- like Steve _wants_ to answer that. He redirects the conversation, asking about the camp Dustin’s going to over the summer. Everything is forced, in a sense, like he’s pushing something that not even _Steve_ is gullible enough to believe. But if he does notice, Dustin doesn’t say anything. 

The parking lot is relatively empty for a Friday night, making it easier to spot Billy’s Camaro right away. Max, all waving hands and messy red hair, is a pretty recognisable sight, too. He parks the car, tapping on the steering wheel impatiently whilst Dustin continues rambling. 

“What’s wrong with Max?” he asks.

“Huh?” Dustin pauses, giving him an exaggerated frown. “ _ Oh _ . She’s just like that,”

Steve makes a soft noise of agreement. 

“Anyway,” he groans. “Pick up time is nine. Mom doesn’t want me to be late, either.”

“Yeah,  _ yeah _ , I know,” He huffs. “Seeya then, kiddo.”

Dustin grins, nose scrunching up and wrinkling. “Bye!” he says, practically skipping to the arcade entrance. Max is still hovering around the car, visibly fuming. 

Steve vehemently tries to ignore the spike of anxiety, nervous anticipation, that runs through him when he sees Billy getting out of the car. There’s a cigarette hanging from his mouth, unlit, and he looks scruffy. Not - unkempt, but  _ tired _ , like he’s missed a few days of sleep. 

Max scoffs, but he watches the gentle manner Billy pushes cash into her hands. He didn’t notice the money crumpled up into his tight fist earlier, but now Steve can’t help but wonder if that’s what the argument was about. 

She turns on her heel, only glancing back once before joining the other kids. Billy still hovers, nervously standing around the car like he’s waiting for something. Every cell in Steve’s body screams, a choir of distraught and shrill voices rattling against their cage. He feels a phantom pain in his chest, a cigarette burn on his wrist -

But, all he hears is a small, “Hey,” echoing from his own throat.

Billy startles. “Hey yourself, princess,”

And it’s like the last few days have been nothing, like they’re back to square one, like Steve hasn’t been clawing at his hair. 

“You look like shit,”

“So you keep telling me,” he spits, keeping his eyes trained firmly on Steve’s face. He smiles, too, slight and pulled tight - but it’s better than nothing. “Why do we always meet like this?”

It’s said quietly, tenderly, almost like Steve wasn’t supposed to hear it. He ignores it, not wishing to rouse anything.

“What was that about?”

He groans. “Don’t ask. She’s a little dipshit. Just like the rest of those kids.”

In response, Steve scoffs. It’s amusing - particularly to Steve, who’s heard enough of Maxine to constitute a reaction. Billy must find his reaction funny, too, because the corners of his lips twitch. 

“Uh, I dunno about that. They’re good, most of the time,”

“Yeah?”

He nods, glancing away briefly. “Been through a lot.”

“Hm.” is all Bily responds with, as if unsure of what to say. “So you’re playing chaperone, huh?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the  _ ‘p’ _ . “Nowhere better to be anyway,”

“What, King Steve isn’t out partying tonight?” 

“Ugh, no way. I’m  _ boring _ now, remember?”

“Turned bitch, if I recall. Still, I’m shocked. To think, there was a _rager_ tonight, and you just - _opted_ _out_? Shocking,” 

He laughs, dry and short, leaving Steve to chew on his lip. “What can I say?” he shrugs. 

“Hey, no judgement,” Billy grins. “Thought you might wanna, uh, hang out or something.”

It takes him by surprise; Billy's glances downwards in an attempt to pull his gaze away and protect himself from the obvious vulnerability. Steve thinks he’s never seen him look like that. “Listen, man, if this is gonna be weird just forget I -”

“No, I - I would like that. We can chill at mine, if you’re up for it,”

Tension visibly leaves his shoulders. Billy considers his words carefully, opening his mouth and closing it again. He looks like some sort of fish. ‘’Uh, yeah. That’s cool.”

“So I guess I’ll meet you there?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, just follow behind me. Don’t want you to get lost, or anything,”

“Please,” he stretches the word out, pulling the corners of his mouth with it. “Can’t be that hard.”

——

Billy keeps up fine - he almost  _ rams _ Steve’s car at one point, whinging about how  _ slow _ he drives out the window, loud enough for all of Hawkins to hear. 

Steve opens the house up when they both finally pull into the driveway, flicking the light switch and illuminating the entrance. The air hits his bare arms, leaving them cool, and he crowds himself closer to Billy in search of warmth. 

“You got any food?” he grins.

It doesn’t take long for them to settle in - there’s a movie playing on the television, volume soft but just loud enough to buzz between them. Billy keeps chewing loudly on the popcorn made for the both of them, constantly dropping it and spilling it right into his lap. Steve rolls his eyes, takes another hit from the joint they keep passing, and lets himself forget the space that should be kept between them. 

“Wanna take a dip?” he asks lazily, gesturing out towards the pool.

The reaction it brings in Steve is the thing he hates the most; no, he doesn’t, but he can’t even  _ hide _ it. He takes a quick breath, eyes darting anywhere  _ but _ outside. 

“What, you afraid?”

Steve doesn’t reply.

Billy’s face softens. “Huh. You know how to swim, right?”

“Yes.” he spits. “I just… don’t like it much, out there.  _ Okay _ ?”

“Yeah. I mean, whatever. I’d be with you, though,”

It shouldn’t have as much weight as it does, settling into Steve’s skin like a brand - like Billy’s offering to protect him, right now, all knight in shining armour.

“Dunno if that’s gonna help,”

“Forreal, though. It might, might not,” he shrugs. “But it could be good, y’know. Better if you could actually tell me  _ why _ -”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Billy watches Steve take another drag, chew on his lip and twitch in his seat. He waits for him to say anything, but only silence follows. Something’s brewing, and no matter how much Steve struggles to hide it, Billy can see it clear as day.

“Fuck it.” He snaps.

“What?”

“Let’s go fucking swimming, Hargrove.”

——

Every single light is turned on in a futile attempt to soothe his nerves, but Steve thinks this is the most vulnerable he’s ever felt; standing here stripped-down to his underwear, watching Billy check the pool’s perimeter under clear instructions to ‘double check for danger’. 

He must think Steve’s _lost_ _it_. Gone _batshit_. 

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this,” he repeats, a mantra punctuated with sharp breaths. 

“ _ Steve _ .” Billy groans. “Last chance to say no.”

“Billy. Promise that if anything happens -”

“Swear on my right arm, princess. I’ll go fucking batshit and save the day, alright? Knight in fuckin’ shining armour.”

“Okay.  _ Okay _ .”

“I think we better do this slow. Like, I’ll get in, and then you can,”

“Holy shit. I  _ cannot _ do this,”

“Steve, you hear me? I’m getting in first,” 

The water ripples when Billy slips his leg in, breaking the previously still surface. It’s clean, blue water dancing under the dim light from the stars above. He can  _ hear _ Steve’s heavy breath, choking down on his own worry. 

“See? It’s fine,” he ducks under the water, soaking his whole body. “Nothing wrong.” He eyes Steve carefully, not wanting to frighten him, but just gently  _ push _ him into joining. “I taught Max how to swim, you know,”

“Really?”

“Yeah. When you’re holding onto someone, it’s a lot easier. Maybe that will help you, too,”

Steve shakes. It’s a subtle thing, but Billy’s eyes are so trained on his figure that it’s unmissable. “Maybe,” he says, shrugging. 

Billy extends his arms. “Give it a go,” Steve reaches right away, grip so tight on Billy’s shoulder that it leaves his knuckles white. “Hey,” he says. “I’ve got you, remember? I’ve got you.”

He lets Steve cling, water pooling just at his waist. Steve latches on like Max did, as a kid, fear tensing his body. 

“Steve. Put your arm around my neck. I don’t mind, if it helps,”

“Okay,” he says, voice breathy and tired.

“See? It’s nice out tonight, right. You know, when I did this with Max, she accidentally punched me. Dipshit,”

Steve grimaces. “I might, too,”

“Nah. You’re doing a good job, pretty boy.”

His face is close to Steve’s, and he watches the flutter of his eyelids, trying to even out his breathing.

“Better?”

“Kinda,” he says, deep breath rattling him so much that Billy can feel it, too. “You’re really warm,”

Billy laughs, and sure, it’s pretty close to a giggle - but he’s so in tune with the moment that he can’t even feel embarrassed. 

“Yeah, pretty boy? You’re doing really well, by the way. Thought you’d be kicking and screaming by now,”

“Honestly? So did I,” he leans his cheek closer to Billy’s shoulder.

There’s crickets humming in the background, an accompaniment to the harmony of their in-time breathing. Here, no one can see them. Just the stars, water lapping around his waist, and Steve’s body conforming into his. 

The rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins is ultimately what makes him do it - Billy doesn’t even  _ think _ anything of it, just as a way to give Steve a little more leverage. He lets his hands lower, slow, eventually cupping under his thighs. 

Billy’s hands wrinkle, though, and Steve’s starting to yawn, so he lifts him up onto the pavement. His legs are still in the water but he’s in the light now, and Billy can see him better - he can see everything, including the unevenly thickened skin along his thighs. 

It takes a moment to click. The raised lines, haphazardly etched into skin, some white and others still pink against the warm hues of Steve’s skin. 

He tries not to look, ignore it in place of continuing to make Steve feel comfortable, but it’s too late.

Steve winces. 

“Shit,” he hisses. “Steve -”

“I know, _ I know _ , okay? It looks worse than it is, I promise,” he’s stuttering, falling all over his words and choking.

“This -  _ Steve _ ,” Billy repeats. 

He interrupts, barely giving Billy the change to utter another breathy rendition of his name. “I told you, remember? I told you I was stupid and just, fucking -”

“Steve.” He says,  _ again _ , but it’s final now - the tone of his voice harsh, yet still keeping its warmth. “Be honest with me about this. Please,”

“I, just. I know it’s bad, and -”

The hand on his shoulder is warm, anchoring him. Billy nods, refraining from interrupting again no matter how much it strains him. 

“It was like everything was bubbling inside of me - I didn’t know how to get it out, Billy, and I hated myself so much for it,” he chokes. “My mom, you know, realised I’d been stealing her anxiety meds. She didn’t even fucking care, Billy! No one fucking cared and - and I -”

He can’t breathe, again, taking massive gulps of air in a futile attempt to stop suffocating. 

“I care, Steve, I fucking care so much, okay? Fuck,” he mutters, shifting Steve’s body weight into the crevice of his chest. “Breathe with me, alright. In and out - like that, that’s it,  _ Stevie _ ,”

It still feels heavy, like there’s water on his lungs, but Steve does it. He breathes, real slow - but, nonetheless, he’s breathing. Billy feels wetness on his shoulder, though, hot tears running down and leaving his shirt damp. “Shit,” he whispers. “Don’t cry, Steve. I’m shit when people cry.”

A sad half-laugh, half-sob erupts from Steve’s mouth, pressed up against him. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” 

“Hey!” he nudges his shoulder, weak enough that it barely makes any impact. It makes Steve croak, throat wet - but, still, he feels like it’s an achievement. “I just wanna know that you’re okay. Don’t want you to be suffering, or in pain. ‘Kay?”

“Okay,” he sighs, letting the air deflate with a sense of finality. “Think you can carry me inside, then?”

——

Billy wraps a towel around Steve’s head, and tries to ignore that it looks fucking  _ adorable _ . 

He lays on the couch like that, asks quietly for Billy to put some music on, fighting the pull of his eyelids. 

So Billy puts the old records stacked in the basement on, lets them swell throughout the house. Steve looks so natural in the warm light, like this is the way it was always  _ meant _ to be. .

It feels right.

Neither of them mention it. 

“Hey Billy?”

“Yeah?” 

Steve hums mindlessly, sleep lay and tender, curling in on himself. “You’re a good friend.” He yawns. 

Billy doesn’t know where to start, with that. It feels dangerous, like he’s on the precipice of being hurt. He doesn’t need to though, because Steve keeps talking.

“One more thing, though. Do you think you could just hold me? Just to warm me up. I don’t wanna have nightmares, y'know, not while you’re here. Just, as a friend, right?”

“I can do that.”

He crawls into the space left on the couch, trying to avoid being kicked by Steve’s freakishly long legs. 

——

Billy doesn’t even realise that he fell asleep until he’s being assaulted by blinding white sun. Even Steve jumps, twisting his body. He groans, stretching his arms out as Billy throws last night's clothes on. 

“You good?”

Steve mumbles unintelligibly in response. 

“I gotta go, Steve. My dad will be expecting me,”

He shuffles around, eyes blinking sleepily. “Thank you,”

Billy smiles, a little too soft and tender for his liking. “No problem.”

Before he can move Steve pulls on his sleeve and looks up, eyes round and watery. “Keep this just between us.”

“Alright,” he nods, even if he doesn’t fully understand why. They’re just hanging out.

  
But he kind of  _ gets _ it, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from blue mountain road, by florist  
honestly, i love y'all so much. this fic has been mostly cathartic for me to write and im constantly suprised people are actually reading it. <3

**Author's Note:**

> chapter title from chelsea by phoebe bridges
> 
> let me know if there's any mistakes, a lot of my writing is done late at night, so.


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